#have we already forgotten how to entertain ourselves without having to point and laugh at someone

[horrorshow]

Can you talk about why you think blocking and moving on is a bad thing? I thought it was a way to curate your space and avoid drama

idk maybe i'm too idealistic but fandom is a much more friendlier, welcoming, supportive, creative, engaging, active, diverse and interesting space when it's treated like a community where people are encouraged to participate and talk about their interests and where there's space for niche or more unpopular opinions without these people having to worry about being blocked and feel unwelcome by the majority of the fandom they are in. i can't stand how blocking everyone you disagree with has become the first thing to do.

you say its 'to curate your experience'. but blocking people does not only curate YOUR experience. you're also forcefully curating other users' experiences. and not for the better.

people say 'i will block you for literally anything' and then those same people wonder why engagement is down, why no one sends asks, why no one reblogs, why rarely anyone talks in the tags anymore and why this place feels so dead and boring and quiet. i wonder why!!!!

people treat real people as annoying ads they can dispose of at their whim. but that's not how a fandom or a site like tumblr works. (besides, if you really care about people curating their own experience you wouldn't block people. you can filter and blacklist and never see them again while still granting them the same freedom instead of actively making their experience worse.)

you say its to avoid drama. but seeing a post you dont agree with is not 'drama'. and blocking is not solving anything except for you personally. fandom was more fun when we remembered that every user is a real person you share a space with, and probably some mutuals as well, so you find a way to live with each other. starting with a restraining order seems a bit excessive and is not contributing to anything. it's not that hard to be respectful and tolerate others and acknowledge people have different opinions and interests and still co-exist in peace. its not that hard to be nice to people and try to find common ground with them and interact with the stuff you DO like. you do this in every aspect of your real life, so why not online?

i hear you say: 'but that requires WORK and i don't NEED to do any of that bc i can just block them'.

yeah, you can try to create your own bubble and only hang out with like minded people but you wont EVER fully achieve that (no matter how much you block, social media WILL keep feeding you posts you disagree with bc it makes them money). social media WILL pressure you into an 'us vs. them' mentality where you constantly feel like everything online is a threat or an argument you have to win and where being mean and unnuanced gives you the most notes and where you don't even see, let alone be able to treat, other users as people anymore bc you don't interact with them anymore other than to block or fight them. that's not how i want it to be online. it's not fun to me. and maybe i'm a pessimist but i think it will eventually be the death of online fandom and sites like tumblr. look at the state of twitter right now. DOES blocking give you a better experience in the long run? i doubt that it does. overall, i think it makes people even less tolerable and more vulnerable to hate and fear mongering, and social media an even more hostile place.

it's everything i hate about social media and everything i want to fight against and WILL fight against. i won't pretend my meager contribution will change anything, but i LIKE to just scroll past posts i don't vibe with and not see every argument online as a personal offense. it keeps me curious. most posts aren't that bad when you know the person behind it. i mean, you do you, i'm not gonna say what you should or shouldn't do bc that's up to you, but i recommend it: free yourself of the block button and bring back supportive user communities based on a shared love for the same thing and focus on what you have in common with people, just like you would do in real life. save the block button for the rotten apples who DO keep trying to pick fights and exclude others.

(which is, now that i think about it, probably the main difference: most people see the block button as a neutral way to prevent worse. but. that's only the case on an individual level. and treating everything online as an individual choice to which there are no further consequences, especially if they happen on a larger scale, is already a loss.)

[fullmetalscullyy]

royai week day 4 - communiqué

summary: roy has an announcement to make to everyone

rated: g | words: 2084 | tags: royai, post-canon, romance, marriage, marriage announcement, marriage of convenience, kinda? bc they just have~ to do it but it works out for them, basically royai using royai to further their agenda

read on ao3 | read on ffnet

“Good afternoon,” Roy greeted with confidence into the microphone atop the podium in front of him. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared back expectantly, and while that should have been unnerving, his excitement at the upcoming announcement kept the feeling at bay. This communiqué had been a long time coming, crafted from years of subtle diversion, and playing a tactical game. Now, it was coming to fruition. It was all still part of their game, but Roy had a personal stake in this part of it too. It was still a win for both parties involved.

A huge personal win.

Up there, on the podium, he was completely exposed. While that was dangerous for someone like him with such high political standing, Roy trusted the eyes that were watching his back implicitly. He does not turn complacent, but is more than confident in their abilities. He trusts each and every one of his subordinates to ensure the day goes well and without incident.

“Today’s announcement,” Roy continued, “will hopefully put to rest any fears you may have had regarding me assuming the role of your leader. Fuhrer Grumman has led this country exceptionally well over the last five years but feels ready to step down. As you all know, I have been named his successor and will make a promise to you all now, this country’s citizens, that I will do my utmost to ensure I do my best by you.”

There was a pleased applause after he finished, accompanied by a quiet murmur.

He meant every word, but that was not the reason Roy had taken the stage that day.

“I would also like you to know that I’ve heard the rumours surrounding me,” he smirked, letting his gaze sweep across the crowd before him. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed how this had piqued the interest of those in the audience with the various media outlets. Their ears perked up at the mention of rumours, understandably. “I am aware of the public’s opinion on a bachelor like myself being given the title of Fuhrer. However, I have come here today to offer my reassurances.”

Some people in the crowd turn to one another, momentarily confused by what he’s saying. Roy smirked to himself, thinking of his own private joke before he opened his mouth to finally reveal to the world something he has wanted to for over two decades.

“As you can imagine, this will be a busy transition period for us, so I hope you will extend your respect, as well as privacy, to both myself and my new fiancé as we navigate this new chapter in our lives. I can assure you though, an official date for my upcoming wedding will be announced soon.”

It was like the crowd had frozen. A few jaws went slack, and mouths parted in shock as they processed the news faster than others.

“More news will come in due time. Thank you.”

With a simple bow of his head, Roy stepped back from the microphone and turned to look at the stunned officials up there with him. Breda and Havoc approached, nonplussed by the news, and started to escort him off the stage.

There was a split second where the world was completely still, as everyone was still processing what he’d just announced. Then, everything felt like it exploded. The crowd erupted into applause and cheers. Cameras flashed in desperation to capture the moment that Roy Mustang, the most eligible bachelor in Amestris and a well-known womaniser in his younger years, announced he was engaged, and his wedding would be announced soon.

Roy can hear some of the questions being yelled by the reporters.

“Who are you due to marry?”

“What’s her name?”

“General Mustang! When did this happen?”

He ignored them all, for all would be revealed in due time. It was enough for now that it had been announced. Roy never planned on revealing anything else other than that today anyway. He would have loved to. He can’t wait for the day he can finally give the order to give the announcement, but he must hold off. The mystery will drum up interest in their favour. It will draw eyes to them and get people talking. No other Fuhrer had caused quite as much a stir as he had, and Roy wasn’t even officially in office yet. He was popular and well liked among the masses. Not as much as the Fullmetal Alchemist, the alchemist of the people, but Roy’s work over the years had built up a perfectly crafted reputation for him. It played well into his plans.

A womaniser who announces he’s settling down with someone who is a complete mystery. It was interesting news. Especially for the imminent ruler of the country.

The public ate it up, desperate to know. Out the corner of his eye he could already see heads bowed together in excitement as they gossiped about the news while Roy walked off the stage.

He was led by his security team into a private room within the building behind them. Havoc gave him a quick nod in response to his order, reaching for the door handle and pulling it closed behind him. Breda was down the hall, already speaking into microphone after microphone in order to soothe public relations about the surprise announcement. Poor guy, but he did volunteer. Having Breda assure them, but give nothing away, would only cause more intrigue. If Roy went out there and spoke to them all, they’d never let him leave.

His shoulder slumped now he was away from prying eyes. Not with fatigue, but just to relax. The initial phase had finally started, and his plans were set in motion. While he did have a personal stake in this and was more than happy to go along with it, it could certainly be draining. But then again, nothing had ever been simple between them.

The door opened as he was pouring himself a glass of water. He reached for a second glass and smirked, not turning around because he knew who it was who’d entered. His order to Havoc was to permit only one person entrance to the room.

“Did you really have to do it so dramatically?”

There was a grin on his face as he turned on the spot, coming face to face with his fiancé. Well, according to the country, she was still his fiancé. Nobody, except from them and his team, was aware that they were already married, and had been so for a while. While touring Aerugo last month they’d taken a clandestine trip to one of the islands off the coast to the south. It was just the two of them, the team, and his mother in attendance. Gracia had made the trip, and so had Edward and Alphonse, along with their respective families. Everyone who mattered most to Roy was there to witness them come together as a couple.

Marriage was not the be all and end all for him and Riza. They already knew where they stood with each other and what their relationship was. They had done so for years, and the ring that nestled comfortably on the end of his dog tags proved that. The legal document was just a formality at this point and given his current position as leader of the country, it would be necessary. So, they’d compromised. A private, personal ceremony for them to do things their way, exchanging the rings they’d already given each other years ago. The grand wedding that was yet to come was for the masses, not for them. Once the official ceremony happened, he would move the ring onto his ring finger where it had always belonged and where he’d always wanted to wear it.

Riza’s lifted one eyebrow expectantly, awaiting his answer.

“They expect a show,” he shrugged, “so I’m going to give it to them.”

“So, our official wedding is just a show,” she deadpanned.

His expression softened at her light teasing. “Our official wedding has already happened,” he reminded her. “In case you had forgotten, we are already legally married.”

“I hadn’t,” she placated as she approached him, “but you need to stop talking about it so openly. You were the one who suggested keeping it a secret, and the walls have ears,” she replied cryptically. Once close enough, she brushed a piece of invisible lint off his immaculate uniform and his shoulder tingled where she’d ran her hand over it.

“Let them listen,” he shrugged again. Roy lifted a hand to rest upon her hip as he grasped one of hers, lifting them both to rest between their bodies. He bent his head forward and kissed the backs of her knuckles, a small, fond smile playing on his lips. “It doesn’t matter now that our news is out.”

“Part of the news is out,” she reminded him. “You were quite adamant about only revealing some of the truth so early on,” Riza smirked. “It will be a busy transition period for us, after all,” she quoted back to him with mock sympathy.

His eyes rolled fondly.

“So,” she continued, extracting her hand from his and taking a step backward to put some distance between them. Roy felt like a petulant child, pouting at her actions. “We must keep up pretences and give ourselves the time and space we need to adapt to our new circumstances and navigate through it.”

“You’re no fun,” he complained, his tone nearly a playful whine.

“I know, dear,” she replied, sounding like she didn’t particularly care he felt that way. Roy was only joking though, of course.

“How did it look from up there?”

Riza’s perch had been on the roof of the building behind him, on the lookout for anyone who may wish harm upon him, along with her own elite security team.

She snorted lightly. “I will admit, it was entertaining to see the looks on their faces.”

“They were very surprised,” he chuckled, pleased with himself.

“It’s never a dull moment with you.”

“I would hope not because you’re stuck with me now, fiancé,” he grinned.

“Unfortunately,” she deadpanned quietly. When he scowled at her, she laughed loudly, her smile reaching her eyes.

For a moment, Roy is enraptured by her beauty. Her grin lit up his whole world and the sound of her laughter pulled at the stings of his heart pleasantly.

He is married to this woman, he thought to himself, and still couldn’t quite believe it.

After so long… After so many years of ignoring feelings and holding back – or trying to – now he didn’t have to.

Although it was his plan to delay the information given, he really wished it wasn’t. He wanted to go back out there and tell everyone how much he loved and cherished this woman before him.

All in due time. And the pay off when that day finally comes will be so worth it.

They’ve both waited for so long. Roy could stick it out for a few more days. What was more important was holding this woman close and loving her so freely like he has always wanted, and Roy planned to do just that.

Riza smirked and didn’t shrug him off as Roy wrapped his arms tightly around her frame. He pulled her close and kissed her, trying to convey just how much he loved her with one kiss alone. She hummed against his lips pleasantly as her arms lifted to loop around his neck. One hand slowly, tantalisingly, trailed up the back of his neck, making him shudder. She noticed and grinned against him. When her nails scratched lightly against his scalp and Roy groaned, Riza’s smile widened. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. She could play him like a fiddle, but Roy didn’t mind at all. There’s no way he was going to stop her ministrations when they felt so good.

“I love you,” he breathed. His chest heaved with his breath and the words almost got stuck in his throat, both from the emotions overwhelming him and their passionate kiss.

“Love you too, Roy.” When she pulled away to look at him, Roy didn’t let her move far. Their noses were almost touching but he could see her expression soften. She looked so happy and content. So in love. Which was exactly how he felt too.

They both couldn’t wait to start this new chapter in their lives together.

[ahopelessromantic]

Florence ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer x Reader (It’s mostly neutral except for one mention of a dress)

Word count: 2k

Warnings: None, Hotch is awesome

Your job isn’t exactly the easiest and you always knew that sometimes, it was going to interfere with your personal life. But when you and Spencer slowly start turning into strangers, you begin to worry.

„You know, if you take a picture it might last longer. “ Your head whipped around just in time to see Emily throw her head back in a cackle. Feeling the slightest bit ashamed you lowered your head to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. “I can’t help it he’s gorgeous, okay?” You mumbled with a pout. Your gaze had been fixated on Spencer all day or, to be precise, on certain… features of his. Emily rolled her desk chair closer to yours, a teasing grin still on her lips. “What’s got you so interested in your boyfriend though? You’re not normally this… tense.”

You were about to snap back that you weren’t tense at all when Spencer clenched his jaw in concentration and your breath quite literally hitched in your throat. “Is it really that obvious?” You sighed; you gaze once again following the movement of his hands. Prentiss patted your shoulder in the sisterly manner she always displayed around you. “Honey, at this point I think even Hotch noticed. Your eyes have been lusting after Spencer all week as if you hadn’t been dating for a year already. Has it, uh… been long?” You almost choked on nothing but thin air. “Shit, it really is that obvious.” You coughed out once you had remotely recovered. “It’s not easy, you know? Whenever I’m done with my paperwork, he has a geographical profile to get to, and whenever he’s free I’m out kicking down doors with Morgan. And then, in the little downtime we have anyway, we’re either catching up on sleep or interrupted by another emergency. I think it’s been weeks since I’ve even seen his bellybutton.” Emily grimaced. “Okay, weird picture in my head right there. But I get what you mean.” You smiled weakly. “Somehow it felt easier when we had just started dating. We were always so afraid of accidentally losing each other that we didn’t really care about anything else besides ourselves, but now that we’re an established couple it’s like we’ve got these roles to fulfil. Especially since we’re also constantly afraid that Hotch might make a full one-eighty after all and forbid us from being together or something.” “What about the downtime on the jet though? There shouldn’t be any disturbances there?” You gasped. “What the hell Emily?!” There it was again, that devilish grin on her face. “You know what?!” You hissed, trying to fight the smile on your lips. “Forget I ever talked to you about this. You know nothing, Emily Prentiss.” With that, you returned your full attention back to your boyfriend’s hands writing down coordinates on a whiteboard. But of course, now you were watching him with the hint of a grin.

“I miss you, you know that?” You whispered into the darkness of the room, leaning your head against the wall behind you to give Spencer more access to your neck. “Honey, I miss you more. God, has your perfume always driven me that crazy?” You grinned and pulled him against you to capture his lips in a scalding kiss. But of course, like always recently, fate wasn’t kind to the two of you. Your little make-out-session was interrupted by Morgan hammering against the door of the BAU’s bathroom. “We’ve got a case, you two. Wheels up in thirty and please, for the love of God, get your stares under control at least for tonight, okay?” You looked at Spencer, who had a sheepish smile on his face. “Morgan’s been on my case all week because he keeps on noticing me staring at you.” You groaned and buried your head in your hands. “Prentiss has been on mine. She keeps on having to pull me back into reality because I keep getting distracted by you.” For a moment a proud grin hushed across his features at the prospect of being the reason for your distraction, but then he visibly deflated. “I feel like we really need a break from all this.” You nodded sadly. “We really do. I fear what’s going to happen to us otherwise. Am I going to faint at the sight of your ankles like a Victorian lady?” He breathed out a laugh, but the sombre mood remained. “I’ll ask Hotch if we can have a few days off.”

It had all sounded so amazing. You, Spencer, a remote cabin in the mountains and all the time and space to reconnect again. You had both prepared by packing your favourite books, to read to each other, card games, to cheat on each other with, and oversized sweaters, to borrow to each other. You had even already gone grocery shopping to get that out of the way for the short trip into the mountains. But two children had been abducted, and the BAU needed its Team’s full capacities to handle the case. So the reservation had been cancelled, the groceries stored away and the comfortable sweaters exchanged for work-appropriate clothes in your weekender bags.

“I’m exhausted.” Spencer sighed while leaning against you on the jet. The circles underneath his eyes ran deeper than ever before and you couldn’t help the gnawing feeling of worry in your chest. You didn’t just need a break to give your relationship some of its old life back, you needed a break to really recuperate and finally sleep again. “I know, honey.” You murmured and played with his hair. He was knocked out in a matter of minutes, your heavy gaze never lifting from your lover’s tired face. “I’m sorry again, you two.” Hotch quietly spoke after sitting down across from you. You smiled weakly and shrugged. “It wasn’t your fault, please don’t feel like it is. This is just… how our lives are, right?” His ever so worried look wandered from you to a sleeping Spencer leaned against your shoulders. “I used to make excuses that this was just how things were going to be sometimes. But it helped neither me nor Haley nor our marriage. Don’t… let this become your lives’ sole content, okay?” You looked at him a bit helplessly. “But how, Hotch? At this point, I feel like I don’t even know what private time is anymore. The most intimate moment I’ve had with Spencer this month was when he saved me from a bullet. Literally. How are we ever going to balance that?” The smallest of smiles fleeted across his lips. “You can start trying to tomorrow.” You frowned in confusion. “Tomorrow?” “Starting tomorrow, if I see either of you in the BAU, I’ll have to fire you. Sorry. Don’t come back before the week is over.” You were about to protest, but he was already getting up from his seat and you couldn’t move due to your boyfriend being asleep on you. Aaron Hotchner was either the worst or the best boss in the world, you just couldn’t really decide yet.

Aaron Hotchner was the best boss in the world. With a smile you rolled your shoulders, revelling in the warmth that hovered in the air. Spencer was dozing off on the balcony, his hands still clutching a copy of A Room with a View in them, a cup of honey tea standing long forgotten on a little table next to him. He had an innocent, serene look on his face, the slight tan of the Italian sun doing wonders for his complexion. “Amore.”, you whispered carefully not to shock him. He sleepily opened his eyes, the sun painting their colour a molten gold. “Hmm?” He hummed, placing his book next to the mug and pulling you onto his lap. “We have to get going if we want to make it to our tour through the Galleria Degli Uffizi on time.” He closed his eyes again and leaned further into his chair, pulling you with him. “Five more minutes, love. Let me enjoy the view.” You grinned. “You’ve got your eyes closed, Spence.” “Yeah.”, he smiled. “I’m thinking of you in the dress you wore to dinner yesterday.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the heat rising to your cheeks. “Before or after I got scampi all over it?” “After it laid on the floor of our room.” You laughed and slapped his shoulder. “Pervertito.”, you hummed. His eyes were watching you now, a lazy grin on his lips. You had missed talking to him like this, without a rush or worry that your shared moment was going to be stolen any minute. As soon as you had realised that Hotch was fully intending on going through with his threat of firing you two if you showed up at work you had booked a short trip to Florence, something Spencer and you had been wanting to do for ages but never got around to do. You didn’t want to lose any more time stealing moments with him, you wanted the time to be yours again. So not even one whole day after the finished case you had already sat on the plane, ready to leave your work behind you for at least a week. And it had been one of your best ideas so far, if not ever. Florence was absolutely stunning. It had enough museums to keep you and your genius boyfriend entertained for months, enough amazing food for you to never get bored of it and a beautiful enough apartment for the two of you to never want to leave again. “What’s your plan?” You asked Spencer at dinner that night. He frowned, putting down his fork for the moment. “My plan?” “About what’s next.”, you elaborated. “I love this, us, here in Italy. And we really needed it. I want to know where we’ll go next, so I have something to look forward to. I thought taking it easy and living into the day was the best way to go for a while, but that way we’ll always allow work to get in the way. We need established times off like this.” He smiled and took your hand across the table. “Okay. Well then, let me see. I’ve always wanted to go to Russia, especially St. Petersburg for the Eremitage. Then Munich, probably. From there we could make a trip to go see Neuschwanstein Castle. Seoul and Busan, to try out all the amazing food markets. Now that I think of it, there are actually tons of places I want to visit with you.” You smiled, a warm feeling bubbling in your chest. “That all sounds amazing. Looks like we still have a lot to see.”

“There they are.” Morgan greeted you with a grin, enveloping you in a tight hug. The Team had all been waiting for your arrival in the bullpen, ready to be complete again. “How was it?”, JJ asked with a wide smile. “Amazing.”, you sighed, leaning back against Spencer who out his arm around you. “We saw Michelangelo’s David, and I’m still not over how gigantic that statue is. And the food, you guys, the food was incredible.” Spencer turned to look at you, and the way his attention was still on you in a room full of people made your spine tingle. “(Y/N) picked a fight with an Italian about wine, though.” You giggled. “I think it was a relative of yours, Rossi.” Rossi rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Probably. Did you bring me my truffle oil though?” “We brought something for everyone, actually.”, you said proudly. “I’ll go get it.” Spencer hummed and pressed a kiss against your temple before disappearing down the hallway. Emily grimaced. “Somehow it was funnier when you were still losing your minds over each other. I had forgotten how lovey-dovey you normally are.” You just grinned at her. “You’ll stop complaining once you see what I got for you.” The banter continued like that, the whole Team just glad to have its old dynamics back, Spencer and yours included. That night you all sat in the conference room and drank the wine you had brought with you, Henry and Jack fast asleep on the sofa with their new toys. Your trip to Florence had been short, but looking around you, you weren’t worried about you and Spencer getting to that point of craziness again. This had been your wake-up call, and you were going to seize it. Italy had been the first of your trips together, but certainly not the last. Soon, the BAU would have a whole wall of postcards from all over the world.

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- SILVER AND OPALS

James took the book from Lily with a happy enough air. He was mostly hoping the first Quidditch game would come up soon, considering tryouts were already past and they needed to see the team in action of course.

Where was Dumbledore, and what was he doing?

"Thoughts I really don't think of too often, unlike Moony," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"You make me sound like a panting teenager," Remus grumbled. "Of course I wonder all the time where the leader of the Order is."

"Your ears really have been saved Harry," Sirius continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Used to come up at least once a meal what that man could be up to, and that's nothing compared to school."

"I take it back," James agreed. "We might not have ever noticed if he was missing from the staff table, but Remus would have flipped the castle inside out if he was missing for more than a day."

Remus' scowl increased upon both of his friends. Their jesting was in good nature, but it still rankled him they weren't wrong. It simply angered him more than anything how blind he'd been until days ago, how he'd refused to see any side of Dumbledore except his white beard until he had it shoved in his face he could be missing something.

His friends obviously knew that had been shaken. They just weren't sure what to make of that themselves. It should have been...a relief? That wasn't the right word either, because it was too sad how down he was now with no one to look up to in that same sense.

When James realized Moony wasn't going to react in any sense of the word he decided to keep going instead, deciding he'd been through more than enough today already, no need to push it.

Harry caught sight of the headmaster only twice over the next few weeks. He rarely appeared at meals anymore, and Harry was sure Hermione was right in thinking that he was leaving the school for days at a time. Had Dumbledore forgotten the lessons he was supposed to be giving Harry?

"I entirely doubt that," Lily sighed. "Though what else he is busy doing is beyond me."

Harry nodded his agreement, trying not to pretend he hadn't been panicking just slightly at the thought of being forgotten, left alone, again.

  Dumbledore had said that the lessons were leading to something to do with the prophecy; Harry had felt bolstered, comforted, and now he felt slightly abandoned.

He wanted to laugh at his own thoughts, but his teeth were still rather gritted. He didn't want to see the expressions on those around him, either pity, remorse, or anything else for something of his past that just could not be changed no matter how much he'd wish for it, so was more than relieved when James continued without too much of a hitch in his throat.

Halfway through October came their first trip of the term to Hogsmeade. Harry had wondered whether these trips would still be allowed, given the increasingly tight security measures around the school,

"Nah, never seen the school get that bad," Sirius rolled his eyes at the thought. "The teachers are well aware we'd burn the place to the ground ourselves if they didn't let the students get some air."

"And that was the normal students, considering this lot went about it without permission," Lily snorted.

but was pleased to know that they were going ahead; it was always good to get out of the castle grounds for a few hours.

Harry woke early on the morning of the trip, which was proving stormy, and whiled away the time until breakfast by reading his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. He did not usually lie in bed reading his textbooks; that sort of behavior, as Ron rightly said, was indecent in anybody except Hermione, who was simply weird that way.

Lily started snickering away again at once, and Harry looked at her in exasperation, still wanting to demand just what was so funny he was missing? It certainly wasn't the same reaction from the Marauders, who looked more dumbfounded than anything this was how Harry chose to spend his time. Even if he'd chosen to pursue homework they'd have thought nothing of it, but independent study!

"You lot can't even really mock him," Remus pleasantly interpreted the almost constipated look on James and Sirius, "because I caught you lot doing the same thing with Transfiguration books so often I honestly thought you had split personalities."

"Yes, well, we had a pretty damn good reason," James huffed.

"So does Harry, he's catching up on five years worth of Potions that useless teacher couldn't have taught him," Sirius insisted, deciding to defend this for now, though no one in here was accusing him of anything.

Lily started laughing harder than ever, and James quickly kept going then, to Harry's relief.

Harry felt, however, that the Half-Blood Princes copy of Advanced Potion-Making hardly qualified as a textbook. The more Harry pored over the book, the more he realized how much was in there, not only the handy hints and shortcuts on potions that was earning him such a glowing reputation with Slughorn, but also the imaginative little jinxes and hexes scribbled in the margins, which Harry was sure, judging by the crossings-out and revisions, that the Prince had invented himself.

Harry whistled in surprise. "Hard to imagine a student inventing spells."

"I wouldn't be that surprised, we tend to experiment quite a bit in our years, far more than when we age and do things out of habit," Remus shrugged.

Harry had already attempted a few of the Prince's self-invented spells. There had been a hex that caused toenails to grow alarmingly fast (he had tried this on Crabbe in the corridor, with very entertaining results); a jinx that glued the tongue to the roof of the mouth (which he had twice used, to general applause, on an unsuspecting Argus Filch); and, perhaps most useful of all, Muffliato, a spell that filled the ears of anyone nearby with an unidentifiable buzzing, so that lengthy conversations could be held in class with out being overheard.

The first two weren't of much consequence, they were used regularly in all their years at school amongst the students and it was more likely this Prince had simply copied a spell he intended to practice. That last one however did catch them off guard, they'd never heard of that exact spell.

"That's really interesting, sort of like honing an Imperturbable Charm, except instead of directly forcing anything not to be around you, you're merely distracting them instead," James eyes were alight at once with the possibility of this.

"Glory I want to meet whoever got a nail on that spell," Sirius agreed enthusiastically, causing James' face to settle back into drawn confusion for that and Lily to start snickering harder than ever.

The only person who did not find these charms amusing was Hermione,

"No surprise there," Remus rolled his eyes at this continuing to be mentioned.

who maintained a rigidly disapproving expression throughout and refused to talk at all if Harry had used the Muffliato spell on anyone in the vicinity.

Sitting up in bed, Harry turned the book sideways so as to examine more closely the scribbled instructions for a spell that seemed to have caused the Prince some trouble. There were many crossings-out and alterations, but finally, crammed into a corner of the page, the scribble:

Levicorpus (nvbl)

Harry watched wearily as those around him frowned at the mention of that spell, one they hadn't used in quite some time. Before he even had a chance to ask, James gave a blustering sigh but explained, "you already saw that one in action, courtesy of me."

Harry's eyes flipped wide in surprise as he demanded, "you invented that spell?"

James frowned in confusion at Harry's leap. "Nah, did a Transfiguration paper for a sixth year Slytherin, he taught me this in exchange." He waited and watched Harry flip through the spells he'd seen his father use, only one of which was silent in the one time he'd 'seen' his father perform magic.

"Oh," was all he could think to mutter before waving him on. He still felt like there was some connection he was missing in this, even if he had latched onto the right memory for once for an answer.

While the wind and sleet pounded relentlessly on the windows, and Neville snored loudly, Harry stared at the letters in brackets. Nvbl., that had to mean "nonverbal." Harry rather doubted he would be able to bring off this particular spell; he was still having difficulty with nonverbal spells, something Snape had been quick to comment on in every D.A.D.A. class. On the other hand, the Prince had proved a much more effective teacher than Snape so far.

Lily had to fight very, very hard this time not to fall off the furniture in a fit of laughter, she knew that would be just too much of a giveaway. Thankfully she'd been in such a spirited mood for so long now, the others were just ignoring her still near constant stream of snickering, even though their annoyance continued to grow just what she found so funny.

Pointing his wand at nothing in particular, he gave it an upward flick and said Levicorpus! inside his head.

Then there was a scream.

"Well, it seems to have worked," Sirius said pleasantly.

"Wonder which of his roommates he snagged," James chuckled, he'd accidentally caught a random third year on his first try and this was bound to be funnier because Harry would know the bloke.

"Hopefully not myself," was all Harry could think to mutter.

There was a flash of light and the room was full of voices: Everyone had woken up as Ron had let out a yell.

"I half expected it to be Neville, you already mentioned him snoring and he hasn't had a catastrophe happen to him in ages," James chuckled.

Harry sent Advanced Potion-Making flying in panic; Ron was dangling upside down in midair as though an invisible hook had hoisted him up by the ankle.

"Revenge for him punching you awake over the summer," Remus got a good laugh out of that. "It happened so long ago he wouldn't even realize you'd still planned retaliation."

"Moony's favorite," Sirius sighed.

Harry yelled an apology, as Dean and Seamus roared with laughter, and Neville picked himself up from the floor, having fallen out of bed.

"Ah, well, I was half right," James's laughter continued, the easy mood flowing through the room making him continuing just had everyone chuckling even harder than they really should have been.

He groped for the potion book and riffled through it in a panic, trying to find the right page; at last he located it and deciphered the cramped word underneath the spell: Praying that this was the counter-jinx, Harry thought Liberacorpus! with all his might. There was another flash of light, and Ron fell in a heap onto his mattress.

Harry repeated his apology, while Dean and Seamus continued to roar with laughter.

Ron requested tomorrow, Harry just use an alarm clock.

"Now where's the fun in that?" Sirius cackled.

By the time they had got dressed, padding themselves out with several of Mrs. Weasleys hand-knitted sweaters and carrying, cloaks, scarves, and gloves, Ron's shock had subsided and he had decided that Harry's new spell was highly amusing; so amusing, in fact, that he lost no time in regaling Hermione with the story as they sat down for breakfast.

"Why?" Remus demanded, looking genuinely dumbfounded at this display. "He must know by now anything regarding that book won't entertain her."

Harry just shrugged, he hadn't been planning on telling her.

Hermione had not cracked a smile during this anecdote, and now turned an expression of wintry disapproval upon Harry, demanding if this was yet another spell from that potion book of his.

Harry frowned at her, calling her out on always jumping to the worst conclusions.

"It's even worse when she's right," Sirius huffed.

He agreed it was though, and she lectured him on just attempting an unknown, handwritten spell to see what would happen!

"She's got half a point," Lily couldn't help but agree now that some of their laughter had subsided. "That really could have been dangerous, or you may not have even known the effect at all until it was too late to understand something was wrong, may not even have had a countercurse ready."

Harry couldn't help but shift in unease, not at all enjoying the foreboding feeling he believed her.

Harry asked what made it so bad handwritten?

Hermione snapped that meant it wasn't Ministry approved,

"Gah!" Sirius clutched his ears in pain.

"As if we didn't hear enough of that last year, Hermione's really working to get on every one of my nerves lately," James agreed tartly.

She also concluded this Prince must have been quite a dodgy one, to be inventing spells to dangle people around, who put energy into that?

"I don't even think the Prince made up half those spells," James rolled his eyes. "I'm starting to wonder if he just heard about them and was trying to figure out how to do them himself." At least four of them so far had been common knowledge during his time at school, it seemed ridiculous one person had made up all of those and they'd grown popular in that same time frame.

Ron offered his twin brothers, while Harry pointed out his dad. He quickly fibbed and told Lupin had mentioned this spell once, but this last part was not true; in fact, Harry had seen his father use the spell on Snape, but he had never told Ron and Hermione about that particular excursion into the Pensieve. Now, however, a wonderful possibility occurred to him. Could the Half-Blood Prince possibly be-?

James tried to laugh, but the sound didn't really make it to full crescendo. Harry very obviously realized the answer to that one here and now, but what he wouldn't give to gift his son with something like this. His cloak often times didn't feel like it was enough to remind his only child he'd even existed, but he tried as always to shake off those thoughts.

Lily really was getting a handle on herself and almost entirely smothered the funny little noise Harry had the wrong parents influence for this book.

Hermione kept going past his thoughts, pointing out they'd seen this spell in action before as well, by Death Eaters during the Quidditch World Cup.

"That must have been an entirely different spell," Remus disagreed, "or at least a modified version of it. Levicorpus very specifically hoists one up by their ankle. That other bit of magic was much more..." he trailed off, not at all liking the words his mind offered up to explain such evil magic.

Flexible seemed to light for what those Muggles had suffered.

Ron came to his aid, saying this was different, those people were abusing the spell. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh, then he told Hermione she just didn't like this Prince because he was better than Hermione at Potions.

Hermione insisted it had nothing to do with that, even as her cheeks went red.

"At once proving her wrong," Sirius needlessly pointed out with his own eye roll. Girl needed to get a handle on her expressions. He only wished Lily were so easy to read, he still kept eyeing her and hoping any moment she'd slip and tell them who this Prince was, but aside from laughing at their ignorance he wasn't getting anything.

She insisted it was all just irresponsible what they were doing with the unknown of that book. Then she persisted Ron stop calling him Prince, like it's a title, he obviously wasn't a good person!

Harry deflected if she was getting towards him being a Death Eater there's no way he'd be boasting as a half-blood.

Lily let out a blistering sigh the kids had just so easily transitioned into talking about what she'd refused to see for far too long about this Prince.

Even as he said it, Harry remembered that his father had been pure-blood, but he pushed the thought out of his mind; he would worry about that later.

Hermione stubbornly went on with her point, Death Eaters couldn't all be pure-blood, there just weren't that many of them. At least some had to be half-bloods, pretending to be pure. It was only Muggle-borns they outright hated, they'd be quite happy to let Harry and Ron join up.

"Oh but of course, lots of parties would be going on during that," Sirius wrinkled his nose in disgust even as he joked of this.

"Deathday parties," Remus agreed with the same expression.

In Ron's indignation, he sent a sausage flying to hit Ernie Macmillan.

James snorted at the random insertion, and all the sudden memories of doing that with much more purpose.

Pointing out his family was nothing but blood traitors, and that was worse than a Muggle-born as far as Death Eaters were concerned!

Harry agreed they'd just love to have him around, they'd all be best pals if they'd stop trying to kill him.

"You mean that's not how you make the best of friends?" Remus mockingly demanded.

This made Ron laugh; even Hermione gave a grudging smile, and a distraction arrived in the shape of Ginny.

"Ginny's been doing that a lot this year," Lily chuckled in surprise while Harry was quick to smile again for getting off this topic, it was starting to give him a headache lingering on this.

She gave him another scroll of parchment with Harry's name written upon it in familiar, thin, slanting writing from Dumbledore. He thanked her, and then asked if she'd be going with them to Hogsmeade?

Ginny said no, she was meeting up with Dean, but would probably see them there.

Filch was standing at the oak front doors as usual, checking off the names of people who had permission to go into Hogsmeade. The process took even longer than normal as Filch was triple-checking everybody with his Secrecy Sensor.

Ron demanded why they were checking to see if they were smuggling Dark stuff out? Surely this would only happen when they were trying to get back in with it.

His cheek earned him a few extra jabs with the Sensor, and he was still wincing as they stepped out into the wind and sleet.

The three Marauders sighed heavily, more than making their point they'd laughingly demanded the same thing of Filch at one point or another, and received the same results.

The walk into Hogsmeade was not enjoyable. Harry wrapped his scarf over his lower face; the exposed part soon felt both raw and numb. The road to the village was full of students bent double against the bitter wind. More than once Harry wondered whether they might not have had a better time in the warm common room, and when they finally reached Hogsmeade and saw that Zonko's Joke Shop had been boarded up, Harry took it as confirmation that this trip was not destined to be fun.

"Fred and George already put them out of business?" James forcefully put a happy little spin back in his voice at the reminder of how murky business' were in this climate. He still hated all the reminders pouring back in now upon Harry's life.

Harry couldn't even begin to play along. Ginny had only caused a slight delay in an ever growing headache, which clearly hadn't been about the Prince, but his coming day, and this wasn't boding well.

Ron pointed, with a thickly gloved hand, toward Honeydukes, which was mercifully open, and Harry and Hermione staggered in his wake into the crowded shop.

They were immediately enveloped by warm, toffee-scented air.

Sirius inhaled deeply like he was trying to pull that scent to him right now, boy he missed his frequent trips to that shop.

Ron was just saying how they should stay in here all afternoon when Slughorn called out to them from behind. He had a box of crystallized pineapple in his arm, and was scolding Harry he'd missed three of his little suppers now.

"That toffee scent still worth it?" Remus muttered conspiratorially, as if Slughorn were here now and trying to wrangle the pair of his friends along once again.

"Nah, I'd have gone outside again already," Sirius agreed.

"Maybe come back with a few snowballs if he didn't take a hint," James agreed.

He insisted this wouldn't do, Miss Granger loved them!

Hermione helplessly said they certainly were-

"I can't decide if Hermione's lying to herself, or him," James snorted.

Harry defended he'd had Quidditch practice, when in fact he'd been scheduling these every time Slughorn had sent him a little, violet ribbon-adorned invitation. This strategy meant that Ron was not left out, and they usually had a laugh with Ginny, imagining Hermione shut up with McLaggen and Zabini.

All of the boys got a good laugh out of that, while Lily rolled her eyes. They really weren't that bad.

Slughorn said he expected them to certainly win their coming match then, with all this hard work.

"I already expected that," James smirked while Harry gave a nervous grin back. He really wanted this game to go without a hitch, it being his first one as captain.

He tried to offer Harry to come on Monday, he surely wouldn't be playing in this weather.

Harry said he had an appointment with Dumbledore, and Slughorn dramatically sighed he'd been foisted again. He threatened Harry couldn't avoid him forever.

"Try him," Sirius sniffed, they'd managed quite often in their years.

And with a regal wave, he waddled out of the shop, taking as little notice of Ron as though he had been a display of Cockroach Clusters.

"An insult on top of an insult," Remus groaned, as if Ron didn't have reason enough for his insecurity problems to be in his face.

Hermione added on even after Slughorn left that they really weren't that bad, they could be fun at times. Then she caught sight of Ron's face, and was suddenly very interested in the deluxe sugar quills.

"Subtle," Sirius drew the word out with a deadpan expression.

"I don't see why she doesn't just invite him along," Lily sighed. "Ask Slughorn if she can bring a friend, he'll say yes on principle, he can come along to one and see how they are. I'll doubt he'd want to go again after that," she finished with a grumpy look at the boys.

"After that first one she hadn't the chance," Harry reminded of his Quidditch practices.

"And I'd be even more cross with her, subjecting him to that!" James rolled his eyes good naturedly. They'd invited Remus and...well they'd invited their friends to one as well, and they'd taken to it as well as to be expected. Needless to say, there was a reason Slughorn only invited he and Sirius to the important parties instead of every one after that.

Glad that Hermione had changed the subject, Harry showed much more interest in the new extra-large sugar quills than he would normally have done, but Ron continued to look moody and merely shrugged when Hermione asked him where he wanted to go next.

No one wanted to linger in the shop after that, and instead bundled backup to head for The Three Broomsticks.

The bitter wind was like knives on their faces after the sugary warmth of Honeydukes. The street was not very busy; nobody was lingering to chat, just hurrying toward their destinations. The exceptions were two men a little ahead of them, standing just outside the Three Broomsticks. One was very tall and thin; squinting through his rain-washed glasses Harry recognized the barman who worked in the other Hogsmeade pub, the Hog's Head. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew closer, the barman drew his cloak more tightly around his neck and walked away, leaving the shorter man to fumble with something in his arms. They were barely feet from him when Harry realized who the man was, Mundungus.

"Oh joy," Sirius huffed. The last time this one had been significantly mentioned he'd dropped the ball and allowed a dementor to attack Harry. The end results weren't the point, this one wasn't a favorite of theirs no matter the good laugh he was worth from time to time.

The squat, bandy-legged man with long, straggly, ginger hair jumped and dropped an ancient suitcase, which burst open, releasing what looked like the entire contents of a junk shop window.

"Sounds about right," Remus snorted.

"Probably stole the lot," James agreed.

He greeted them with a most unconvincing stab at airiness.

"Wonder why he would be," Lily muttered. Harry really hadn't shown much inclination towards him for Mundungus to be anything other than passingly cordial.

He began scrabbling on the ground to retrieve the contents of his suitcase with every appearance of a man eager to be gone.

Harry politely asked if he was selling all this?

Mundungus snapped yes he was while snatching a silver goblet out of Ron's hands.

Ron had just begun to say how familiar that looked when Mundungus shouted ouch!

James startled hard in surprise, automatically trying to lean in closer to his kid in fear someone had attacked him. It was a natural reaction after all the threatening situations his kid had been in. Forcing himself not to imagine dementors swooping in once more upon his child, he kept going frantically because of that one simple word.

Harry had pinned Mundungus against the wall of the pub by the throat. Holding him fast with one hand, he pulled out his wand.

"Bloody hell, what did he have!" Lily yelped in concern, fighting with herself to jump in front of Harry and demand a reasonable explanation for this. His fierce expression wasn't giving much of an answer, clearly so outraged the words weren't coming to him, but she just knew it had to be a good one for him to be acting like this.

Harry pressed their noses together as he shouted that had been from Sirius' house! That had the Black family crest on it!

This was so far beyond the scope of the danger they'd been fearing, the burst of surprised laughter almost sounded like it had been punched out of Sirius. He still kept going though, his shoulders shaking with mirth even as his eyes landed shrewdly on his godson. "What a reaction."

Harry's anger didn't lessen at all for his godfathers careless way, keeping a focused anger on no one in here for the disrespect he saw in this act.

James cleared his throat uneasily before calling for his attention. "Really not seeing what you are here Harry. Sirius doesn't give a damn about that stuff, surely you know that."

"He nicked his stuff!" Harry spat, aghast now that no one seemed to be getting this. "It doesn't matter he wouldn't care, it was still his things!"

James still exchanged a puzzled look with Remus, who shrugged without answer. If he'd caught Mundungus doing that, he likely would have rolled his eyes and ignored the act, exactly for the reason Prongs had just said. They were things, they barely associated that house and anything inside it with their friend because Sirius himself put so much distance away from it.

Sirius decided it was best to just play this off for now though, it didn't really matter what his reaction would have been, but Harry's anger for it, and so he persisted, "well, the point here is Harry's finally giving Mundungus some revenge for bailing on him last summer, so whatever the reason, I say you keep going with it Prongs."

James shrugged and did just that, not doing a very good job of hiding his mystified expression.

Mundungus tried to protest, but Harry's hold only tightened as he demanded if he'd gone back that very night to strip the place?!

James winced hard at that line, swallowing convulsively and nearly choking on the spit. He had to remind himself it had already been months to Harry since this happened, where as he'd just heard the news days ago. He could hardly fathom speaking the words in a conversation yet, let alone Harry still casually dumping that pile of words no matter his temper.

Harry demanded Mundungus hand it all over, but with a crack, he disapparated.

Harry whirled on the spot, demanding to know where he'd gone.

"Not anywhere around there," Lily muttered. If there was one thing Mundungus was good at, it was weaseling himself out of those kinds of situations.

He kept shouting about that thieving-

Tonks appeared out of nowhere, her mousy hair now slick with sleet. She told him there was no point in his yelling.

Harry's anger only seemed to double as he howled, "am I really still being followed?!"

"Wouldn't surprise me," Remus frowned, a bit of reproach already boiling if Harry really took this out on Tonks, she didn't deserve it at all for doing her job. "What makes you think it went away?"

"Probably not though," Sirius quickly tried to defuse, more than happy to jump topics. "She said she was stationed in Hogsmeade, probably walking the area and the Hogshead is as good a place as any to do that, or maybe you just missed an Order meeting."

Harry just turned to grumbling and not acknowledging either of them, his hands still itching like he wished to pin someone where they stood.

When Harry groused what had happened, Tonks seemingly took no notice of the information but to say there still wasn't a point to yelling about it.

"Wouldn't surprise me if she knew," James gave an uneasy chuckle at the idea of her helping to pack it away instead of Sirius like they'd all laughed about at one point. Why did everything have to come back to haunt them with their jokes?

Then she told them to get out of the cold. She watched them go through the door of the Three Broomsticks. The moment he was inside, Harry burst out in further frustration about Sirius' stuff being nicked!

"So we gathered," Lily frowned in sympathy at him. She really was trying to understand why Harry was in such a temper about this, and she could sort of see it just being the principle of someone desecrating his godfathers house like that, but even then that wasn't a place Harry liked to think of Sirius in anymore than them. Sad maybe, depressed at the reminder of those things now in Mundungus' possession she'd understand, but where was this anger coming from? It was starting to wind her up as much as him for the simple fact she couldn't grasp what was bothering her child.

Hermione softly agreed, but also rebuked his shouting as people were staring. She told him to go sit down and she'd fetch drinks.

Harry was still fuming when Hermione returned to their table a few minutes later holding three bottles of butterbeer.

"I don't know why you wouldn't be, you're clearly not going to let this go," Sirius sighed, though he more than wanted to.

Harry demanded of no one couldn't the Order keep him in check? He shouldn't be able to steal whatever isn't nailed down!

"No," all four of them muttered. That really had been part of Mundungus' 'charm.' It wouldn't do to have a thief around who wasn't good at his job.

Hermione desperately shushed him now, looking around to make sure nobody was listening; there were a couple of warlocks sitting close by who were staring at Harry with great interest, and Zabini was lolling against a pillar not far away.

"Oh good, I needed someone to hex," James muttered for himself on that one, well aware Harry didn't partake in his personal feelings of venting, but he certainly was envisioning it right now.

She did agree she'd be annoyed to, someone stealing her stuff- Harry gagged on his butterbeer; he had momentarily forgotten that he owned number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"All the more reason I would have laughed it all off, now it was doubly uncared for," Sirius sighed. "Least Mundungus would put it to a good cause, his own pockets."

Harry gave him a scandalized look and Sirius quickly raised his hands in surrender, deciding against pursuing the point.

He did agree it was no wonder Mundungus hadn't been happy to see him, that being his now. He still decided he was going to tell Dumbledore about this Monday.

"What exactly do you expect Dumbledore to do about it?" James asked curiously.

Harry just let his expression keep stewing without an answer, he didn't really have one.

Hermione seemed pleased he'd at least found a solution to get him to stop shouting, then demanded of Ron what he was doing. He'd been glancing around the room this whole time, but quickly muttered nothing when caught. Harry knew he was trying to catch the eye of the curvy and attractive bar-maid, Madam Rosmerta, for whom he had long nursed a soft spot.

"Most lads do," Sirius chuckled, "though I'd think he'd know better by now than to show as much in front of Hermione."

"Getting her back for ignoring him at breakfast that other day," James shrugged.

Hermione clearly didn't buy it, as she waspishly said 'nothing,' was probably in the back getting more drinks.

"Hermione's jealousy really is getting more obvious than ever," Remus chuckled, more than willing to play along and put that nasty business off their minds. "I'm wondering how long it'll take Harry to lock them in a classroom and force them to have it out."

"I was more waiting for them to get on with it, they'd never been subtle in the past about their rows," Harry rolled his eyes, but at least his words weren't as biting anymore, he was clearly calming down.

Ron ignored this jibe, sipping his drink in what he evidently considered to be a dignified silence. Harry was thinking about Sirius, and how he had hated those silver goblets anyway.

All four of them sighed as it registered Harry knew this anyways. It was maddening he wouldn't just spit it out and tell them what his real problem with this was, but he also had his teeth clenched again and wasn't looking at any of them. Weather he thought it was obvious enough or just didn't want to talk about it, no one was going to force it out of him when they'd rather it never be spoken of again.

Hermione drummed her fingers on the table, her eyes flickering between Ron and the bar. The moment Harry drained the last drops in his bottle she asked if they were ready to head back to the castle?

The other two nodded; it had not been a fun trip and the weather was getting worse the longer they stayed. Once again they drew their cloaks tightly around them, rearranged their scarves, pulled on their gloves, then followed Katie Bell and a friend out of the pub and back up the High Street.

Despite his hands still twitching in his lap and his face tightening more every second, they all thought he was still just on the topic of Sirius, it didn't occur to them a headache was forming again. That warning feeling deep in his gut was starting to bubble, this trip into Hogsmeade was destined to get worse.

Harry's thoughts strayed to Ginny as they trudged up the road to Hogwarts through the frozen slush.

"How random," Sirius chuckled forcefully, but was all for Harry's stray thoughts being shown rather than his lingering one.

They had not met up with her, undoubtedly, thought Harry, because she and Dean were cozily closeted in Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, that haunt of happy couples. Scowling, he bowed his head against the swirling sleet and trudged on.

"I can see how that would bother you," James was quick to jump in and agree with this, making Lily wonder if she wasn't the only one feeling wrong footed in not getting a handle on Harry's real problem. "If I had anything resembling a sister I'd feel the same."

Harry was so startled to hear that coming out of his mouth he entirely lost his contrite expression and turned to him in surprise. He'd never contradicted when anyone said this because before now he'd really felt no reason to. This time though, he wanted to protest in disgust it was nothing like that, Ginny was far more of a friend to him than anything resembling a sister. He held back though, because he wasn't sure that was the right comparison anymore either. It wasn't like his friendship with Hermione after all...so what was the word to use for it? He was chewing on this so hard he hardly noticed the tempo of his headache increasing as his dad continued.

It was a little while before Harry became aware that the voices of Katie Bell and her friend, which were being carried back to him on the wind, had become shriller and louder. Harry squinted at their indistinct figures. The two girls were having an argument about something Katie was holding in her hand with her friend Leanne.

"Urgh, avoid this Harry," Sirius swiftly inserted. "Teammate she is, but you don't want to get in between her tiff with her friend. She'd think you're a right pig of a captain."

A trickle of sweat started forming on the nap of Harry's neck despite the freezing temperatures he so vividly remembered. He could no longer focus on Ginny, Sirius, or much of anyone right now except the very real pain of his head screaming at him to pay attention around the splitting it was causing his vision.

They rounded a corner in the lane, sleet coming thick and fast, blurring Harry's glasses. Just as he raised a gloved hand to wipe them, Leanne made to grab hold of the package Katie was holding; Katie tugged it back and the package fell to the ground.

At once, Katie rose into the air, not as Ron had done, suspended comically by the ankle, but gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly.

James froze, the feeling erupting in the room all around them. As Harry had just said, this was not in any way funny, but with a glance at his friends he tried his hardest not to immediately assume a Death Eater was around. This didn't have to be the panic inducing fear for life he was already latching onto with far too much practice...

Yet there was something wrong, something eerie. . . . Her hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne had all halted in their tracks, watching.

Lily's lip was already trembling, her face as white as the sleet in her mind during this depiction, she was fighting back the urge to shriek as loud as that wind. Even without Harry's ghastly face a mask of horror promising this should not be interpreted any other way, she knew, they all did, something was terribly wrong.

Then, six feet above the ground, Katie let out a terrible scream.

James startled to his feet without remembering to do so, his body trying to put him into action even as no spell truly came to mind. There was no answer for this, his eyes only staying locked on the words for explanation, even while the back of his mind was already offering up the horror of this happening to the rest of the kids, his Harry next any second.

Her eyes flew open but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her terrible anguish. She screamed and screamed; Leanne started to scream too and seized Katie's ankles, trying to tug her back to the ground. Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed forward to help, but even as they grabbed Katie's legs, she fell on top of them; Harry and Ron managed to catch her but she was writhing so much they could hardly hold her. Instead they lowered her to the ground where she thrashed and screamed, apparently unable to recognize any of them.

Harry looked around; the landscape seemed deserted.

He told them all to stay here while he ran for help.

"No! You don't separate from them!"

Harry hardly acknowledged this, couldn't even have said who'd scolded him, his mind purely absorbed on the one goal of finding help.

He began to sprint toward the school; he had never seen anyone behave as Katie had just behaved and could not think what had caused it; he hurtled around a bend in the lane and collided with what seemed to be an enormous bear on its hind legs.

Before the guttural noise could even form, a snarl of anger or fear for Harry next running into yet another problem, James was still going in the same breath, though he really hadn't breathed since Katie began her 'flight.'

Harry recognized Hagrid in relief and quickly explained someone had been cursed!

Hagrid was in a panic at once, asking about Ron and Hermione?

A spastic noise thumped somewhere in Sirius' throat, a good old laugh about who Hagrid worried about more with the order of those names, but it never even made a flicker in his mind, to focused on every word Prongs was saying.

Harry corrected the right girl before leading the way.

Together they ran back along the lane. It took them no time to find the little group of people around Katie, who was still writhing and screaming on the ground; Ron, Hermione, and Leanne were all trying to quiet her.

Hagrid shouted at them all to get back, and then without a word, bent down, scooped her into his arms, and ran off toward the castle with her. Within seconds, Katie's piercing screams had died away and the only sound was the roar of the wind.

Lily was still shivering nonstop, her teeth clicking together as if that cold was permeating the air in here as well. This was what brought James back to the room, and he crossed it quickly to settle beside her, with her son on her other side. She tried to protest, but he ignored her as he kept going still on the same breath, even if it was coming out more strained every second for not giving himself a chance to breathe in between this mayhem starting out of the blue.

Hermione hurried over to Katie's wailing friend and put an arm around her.

She asked if Leanne could tell them anything more that happened. All she could sob was it happened when that package tore. She pointed at the now sodden brown-paper package on the ground, which had split open to reveal a greenish glitter. Ron bent down, his hand outstretched,

Harry startled out of his seat as well, nearly sending Lily and Sirius to the floor in his wild grab to stop this. James hardly noticed, locked as he was to the words to ensure Harry's intent went through to the one who needed it.

but Harry seized his arm and pulled him back, telling him not to touch it.

The breath of release escaping them all finally forced air in again. They'd all wanted to shout that from the moment Leanne had said the words, afraid Harry's natural curiosity would send him off to do this, but it had been locked in place until he showed he'd be doing otherwise, the opposite in ensuring his friend wouldn't suffer the same fate.

"It's cursed," Remus said flatly, as his mind finally spun back into processing things again.

"And a powerful one at that," Sirius agreed as he rubbed ruefully at his jaw, that was the kind of thing he'd expect to find in his mothers jewelry box, not some poor kid at Hogwarts possessing.

"What the bloody hell was Katie doing with it?" Lily demanded, her voice not anywhere near normal volume no matter how hard she tried. 

"That is a very good question," James agreed, only managing the flat tone because he was still getting his breath back. He took one more cautious look at Harry, the idea of his son going through that nearly suffocating him all over again. It helped nothing Harry refused to take his seat, but began pacing the room, a deeply troubled look that he hoped had everything to do with his teammate being in these circumstances rather than remembering this happening to him next.

He crouched down. An ornate opal necklace was visible, poking out of the paper. He recognized it, that was on display in Borgin and Burkes when last he'd been, the case had said it was cursed.

Sirius snarled, fighting back the impulse to spit in disgust at how often that store kept being brought up recently. He made a mental note to burn it to the ground, and sadly that wasn't even in his top ten of things he had to do first.

Katie must have touched it. He looked up at Leanne, who had started to shake uncontrollably, and asked how they'd come across this?

Leanne explained that's why they'd been arguing. Katie had come back from the bathroom with it, and she'd been acting odd saying she had to get it to Hogwarts right now. She brokenly ended in further sobs Katie had probably been Imperius and Leanne hadn't even realized!

"There are more ways of bending people to your will then that curse, that one just tends to be the most powerful." Lily murmured to herself, the idea of it happening at all still causing her to want to scream any second. Why did this have to keep happening in Harry's life? She wished this was more boggling, but sadly in their time in school it wasn't unheard of for students to come across cursed objects, and cursing each other with powerful spells was a walking liability, and still her son kept managing to find the most oblique ways of emphasizing that in his life.

Hermione patted her shoulder gently.

Harry tried to find out more, if Katie had said who it was for, but Leanne said Katie wouldn't say. So she'd tried to take it away from her, and then- Leanne let out a wail of despair.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then pulled his scarf from around his face and, ignoring Ron's gasp, carefully covered the necklace in it and picked it up.

James shivered so hard the book nearly fell from his grasp. He understood why Harry was doing it of course, so no one else could unwittingly come across it, so someone like Dumbledore could investigate it. Reasoning obviously said Harry would be fine, so had Katie until it had been touched by skin and his son was clearly being careful of this. None of that fought off the compulsion to slap that away from his child this second, to be the one to do this instead.

He told his friends they'd have to take this to Madam Pomfrey.

As they followed Hermione and Leanne up the road, Harry was thinking furiously. They had just entered the grounds when he spoke, unable to keep his thoughts to himself any longer, he spoke aloud to Ron this must have been Malfoy's doing. This is what he'd bought that day in Borgin and Burkes.

"You're very likely not wrong," Lily passively agreed as she watched his hurried steps pick up in tempo, weather in agitation for being wrong or excitement of being right she really couldn't tell. "It does tie up rather well, but at the same time, it doesn't at all explain the conversation you heard between Borgin and Draco." The bit about being seen carrying it down the street sticking out most in her mind, this was easily something that could have been hidden away. Hermione herself had seen it moments later when she'd stepped in after Malfoy.

Harry just gave a jerky nod he'd heard her without adding anything, likely meaning he was still thinking hard about something else, or trying very hard not to think of something more likely.

Ron was hesitant of the idea, reminding this had happened in a girls bathroom, surely Malfoy wasn't in there.

"Like a bloke couldn't slip into the girls bathroom for a second," Sirius jeered, entirely sick of Harry's friends protesting something like this at every turn. "It's not as if it's got a ward on it to stop us!"

"An interesting query though, why the girls bathroom? If it was indeed Malfoy and not some isolated incident, why did it have to be a girl? Malfoy could have just as easily done this to any male coming along," Remus muttered, wondering if they were missing some significance in light of Harry's train of thought.

Before Harry could go any further, McGonagall came marching down the stairs to meet them. Harry quickly handed over the wrapped necklace. They were stopped by Filch at the door hurrying forward with his Secrecy Sensor,

"That's another thing," James said in clipped tones. "No matter the cursers intentions, there's no way that thing would have gotten in the school past Filch with Katie."

"Maybe she wasn't trying to get it back to the school, but headed to somewhere else in Hogsmeade with it." Remus offered.

"No, Leanne specifically said someone inside Hogwarts," Harry parotid, still pacing this way and that as his mind clamored to show him something he was forced to keep away, the movement wasn't helping at all.

"Someone inside Hogwarts who very likely wasn't actually inside the school at that time," Remus agreed. "Everyone in the castle was likely to be out that day," clearly thinking his theory still stood.

Harry didn't acknowledge him, afraid anything he said would only make his own mind worse.

McGonagall carefully passed the necklace off to him, telling him to take this to Snape.

They really were all in such a highly agitated state that hardly made a blip on their thoughts. If they'd thought about it at all, they would have said McGonagall herself, they just cared to much about Katie and whoever the target had been right now to think otherwise of who looked that thing over.

Harry and the others followed Professor McGonagall upstairs and into her office. The sleet-spattered windows were rattling in their frames, and the room was chilly despite the fire crackling in the grate. Professor McGonagall closed the door and swept around her desk to face Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the still sobbing Leanne.

The moment the door closed she demanded what happened.

Haltingly, and with many pauses while she attempted to control her crying, Leanne told Professor McGonagall how Katie had gone to the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks and returned holding the unmarked package, how Katie had seemed a little odd, and how they had argued about the advisability of agreeing to deliver unknown objects, the argument culminating in the tussle over the parcel, which tore open. At this point, Leanne was so overcome, there was no getting another word out of her.

McGonagall kindly asked her to go onto the Hospital Wing then, and she left.

Her expression returned sharp as she continued to the trio this all happened when Katie touched the necklace?

Harry described the rest in detail. Then he followed up if he could speak to Dumbledore.

She looked surprised, but responded he'd be gone until Monday. However, anything he had to tell the Headmaster could be said to her.

"I think you offended her," Sirius tried absently to put a smile in place, though nothing of this whole chapter had been funny at all.

For a split second, Harry hesitated. Professor McGonagall did not invite confidences; Dumbledore, though in many ways more intimidating, still seemed less likely to scorn a theory, however wild.

"I can see your point though," Lily said fairly, even if the same thing wouldn't have crossed her mind. No matter how open Dumbledore seemed to Harry, her son was still one of the few students in that school who would see him that way, everyone else had even less direct contact with him and would have gone to their head of house with this.

This was a life-and-death matter, though, and no moment to worry about being laughed at. So he blurted out his idea about Malfoy.

On one side of him, Ron rubbed his nose in apparent embarrassment; on the other, Hermione shuffled her feet as though quite keen to put a bit of distance between herself and Harry.

All three Marauders looked very snappy at that, with the firm belief they held that no matter their personal disagreements they wouldn't be showing that in front of anyone else. This was just insulting on Harry's friends part, far more than disagreeing with him in general when they wouldn't even play along with his idea.

McGonagall said that was a very serious accusation,

"He didn't accuse me?" Sirius went wide-eyed and innocent again.

Harry glanced up at him and gave an obligatory laugh, but only faked that this put him at ease as he sank down in the nearest seat, next to Remus. He was still rubbing hard at his temples, his eyes clenched shut and for all the world wishing he could sever his head to be rid of this constant pain.

Harry admitted he didn't have any proof, but also told her about what they'd heard over the summer.

Hermione cut in to remind Borgin had asked if he'd wanted to take a package with him, and Malfoy had said no.

Ron interjected he'd look like a prat carrying a necklace down the street.

"Both you boys really aren't keeping up very well with this," Lily shook her head at them.

"It had been months since that happened, not this morning," Harry mumbled in slight defense he hadn't recalled the exact words, even as much as he'd obsessed over them.

Hermione sharply reminded both of them it would have been wrapped up, that wasn't the problem. Obviously it had been something big and bulky Malfoy couldn't go around with.

McGonagall cut into their squabble, furious now at their accusation that held nothing. Hundreds of people could be in the same circumstance.

Ron muttered that's what he'd said.

"Congratulations Ron, now you're mimicking the book inside the book," Sirius pressed out an even more forced chuckle, growing heavily agitated this was getting harder every time.

In any case, Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today.

"How would she know?" Lily muttered in confusion, that seemed more like something Snape would be aware of. The point didn't particularly matter she supposed, as she agreed with James' next words.

"Ra-drat," James sighed, there went his prime suspect.

"I wouldn't rule him out just yet though," Sirius still had a calculating look in place, still prepared to defend Harry's idea. "Crabbe or Goyle could have done this for him, if he is the one behind this." He really found it hard to believe Malfoy was very possibly up to something this year and then this happened without being connected.

Harry looked up sharply at him, but even this answer still felt a step off. Still, it did ease his pain somewhat, as always, to hear the conversation around him circulating, the true answer just beyond his reach but at least not festering as his dad continued.

Harry gaped at her, deflating, asking how she knew.

McGonagall explained he was doing a detention with her, as he'd failed to turn in two Transfiguration assignments.

"I didn't realize Malfoy's boasting earlier literally meant he wasn't going to be doing his work this year," Remus rolled his eyes at this inconsequential bit of information.

"Surprised he hasn't been paying someone to do it for him like all the other years," Sirius groused.

She dismissed them then, as she needed to go check on Katie.

They began climbing the stairs towards their dorm, and no matter how angry Harry was at the two for not backing him in front of McGonagall, he still joined in as they discussed who the necklace was supposed to go to.

Hermione said the most likely subjects were Dumbledore, Slughorn, or Harry.

Harry's eyes lit up briefly, he was so sure that was the right answer and the confidence nearly spurred him into words, but was cut off by Remus shaking his head while James had been listening the other two. "No, to all three. I'm still leaning towards it being a woman the intended target now. Why the girls bathroom, that part just makes no sense."

It had all happened so fast he'd lost his confidence with the exact same thought, back to muttering in squalor of the uselessness of his mind.

Harry disagreed with the last one at least, or Katie would have turned around right then to hand it to him.

"I might disagree," Lily hedged, twisting a strand of hair around her finger as she thought. "It really depends on the kind of magic placed upon her to force her doing this. If she'd been given the very explicit command to give this to you in your shared common room, she may not have even registered you behind her at all." Her focus came back though, and she shook her head sharply to dispel away that line of thinking. "Point is, though sound logic Hermione's using, we can't rule out anyone."

Harry could at least nod his agreement to that, though his eyes kept drifting out of focus like he'd struck gold and let it slip through his fingers all at once and for the life of him couldn't understand why.

He did wonder aloud why Malfoy had told her to take it into the castle at all.

Hermione stamped her foot in frustration Malfoy hadn't been in Hogsmeade today!

"Ooh, now we know we've got her in a temper," James huffed with a roll of his eyes, but did tell Harry, "you're being rather single minded with this though. You're causing just as much trouble not hearing others ideas and insisting on your own as they are ignoring yours."

"But you know I'm right!" Harry spluttered.

"Not really," he sighed. "I agree it's a very, very good chance, but it also never hurts to hear other ideas while you're at it. Could even somehow round back to helping your own on a completely different theory."

Harry crossed his arms and muttered defiantly, causing Remus to actually smirk in genuine amusement again. Harry sounded so like both James and Sirius with the grumbles he was using.

Harry moved past that, saying he must have an accomplice. Crabbe or Goyle, or any number of Death Eaters now he could call upon for help.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that plainly said, 'There's no point arguing with him.'

"That's as much as you can ask for at this point," Sirius sighed. "Letting you talk yourself out."

"Gee, thanks," Harry snipped.

The portrait swung open to admit them to the common room. It was quite full and smelled of damp clothing; many people seemed to have returned from Hogsmeade early because of the bad weather. There was no buzz of fear or speculation, however: Clearly, the news of Katie's fate had not yet spread.

"Give it a few hours," Lily sighed, knowing this wasn't the kind of thing to stay secret in the castle.

"At least until breakfast," James agreed.

Ron boosted a first year out of a seat next to the fireplace as he said

Remus snorted in surprise.

the whole thing wasn't done very slick at all. The curse didn't make it into the castle, and had a very low chance of doing so. Not very foolproof.

Hermione agreed with him, even as she toed him out of the chair and offered it back t the first year.

"I'll call that a small miracle she managed that," Sirius agreed, finally managing an easy laugh along with Remus for that random exchange.

It hadn't been very well thought out at all.

Harry agreed up to the point of saying since when was Malfoy a great thinker.

Neither Ron nor Hermione answered him.

"Glory, why is it always you," James groaned as he hastily snapped his chapter shut before anything else could happen.

Harry couldn't help but agree. His stance on Malfoy aside, why had it been him coming across this at all!

HPHPHPHP

Actually, despite the characters not, I do get Harry's little tizzy over Mundungus in this chapter. I'd have been just as outraged, as it's the principle of the matter Sirius was being stolen from. I hope I made it clear though that they just don't because they can't associate that stuff with Sirius, whereas that's really all Harry has learned to attach to his godfather, things. He barely has any memories with him. This is getting depressing, but I still hope you enjoyed on some level.

[prairiesongserial]

13.6

The large cavern was still quiet. Cody could feel the eyes of the Good Guys on his back, but he kept his eyes fixed on the King’s. This was nothing like the parley at Old Problem had been. maybe he’d been an idiot for thinking that it would be. This wasn’t two groups meeting on neutral ground - this was one person meeting a gang in the depths of their own territory, far under the earth, with nowhere to run if things broke bad. No one was watching over Cody with a gun this time. He was alone.

“Sure,” he said to the King, his mouth dry. “Let’s parley.”

Cody didn’t know the rules of parley, not really. He knew what he’d gleaned from Marc, mostly, which had been useless in Old Problem, and would probably be useless now. Cody had never seen the Dead-Eyes parley with anyone, probably because Ethan hadn’t been the kind of person who sat down with other gangs to find compromises. Ethan just took whatever he wanted, consequences be damned.

“I’ll be honest,” the King said, sprawling back in her seat once again, “I don’t think we have all that much to parley about. The Dead-Eyes have got nothing I want. Neither do your friends in the circus. But…” She leaned to one side, propping her cheek on her hand. “I am curious how you came to lead the Dead-Eyes. Last I heard, you were being a thorn in their side in Old Problem.”

“How do you know about Old Problem?” Cody asked, before he could help himself. Hearing someone else say the name of the town out loud, when he’d been thinking it over and over, was like a bucket of cold water to the face. And again, the Good Guys seemed to know things about his and John’s time in Texas that they couldn’t possibly have been privy to, that Cody couldn’t even guess how they’d heard about. It felt uncanny, for a stranger to know his story before he’d told it to them.

“I know a lot of things,” the King said cryptically. “And I think it’s curious that a Dead-Eye is out here, so far from his territory. The leader of the Dead-Eyes, no less. And a wanted man.” She looked down at Cody, one eyebrow cocked. “So, I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Allison, since we’re here to parley. In exchange for letting the circus and those other wanted people you’re with pass through my mountains, you’re going to tell me what it is you’re wanted for.”

Privately, Cody thought it was interesting that the King had heard of the parley in Old Problem, but not of the circumstances surrounding Ethan’s death. Apparently knowing a lot of things only went so far.

“You’ll let the circus go?” he asked, just to be sure. “Everyone with the circus?”

The King straightened a little in her seat. “That’s what I said, isn’t it? I’ll even let them go without paying the toll, if your story’s good. No lies in parley.”

From what Cody had experienced of Hemisphere gangs, he doubted that was true. But if the King was dedicated to being honest, then he could try to be honest, too. She already knew much more about him than he’d anticipated. And answering her question would ensure safe passage through the mountains for John, Val, and Friday - which was what Cody had come down here to do in the first place.

“I killed Ethan Rouse. He was the leader of the Dead-Eyes, so the title passed to me. That’s how the Dead-Eyes have always done it,” Cody said, bluntly. This, at least, he could be confident about. The Dead-Eyes had always made it a point that the leader could be challenged for their title, and that anyone who managed to kill them could take it.

“But,” he said, steeling himself for what came next, “I owed him money. A lot of money. I think - he never told me, but I think he borrowed the money from Hemisphere, and couldn’t pay it back. And now he’s dead, and I still owe the money, so Hemisphere put a price on my head.”

The King gave him a curious look. “That isn’t much of a story.”

“I - that’s what happened,” Cody said, not sure of what else he could say. The King sounded like she wanted something else from him, something he wasn’t sure how to give. He didn’t know any other way to tell what had happened to him.

“You’re not very good at telling it,” the King said, smirking. “Tell it again. From the beginning, this time.”

There was a chorus of murmurs from the other Good Guys in the hall, evidently in agreement with the King’s order. Cody almost asked if she was serious, but forced himself to bite back the question. Snapping at the King wasn’t going to do anything but lose whatever good will he had with her right now. If she wanted a proper story...well, he could try to tell it.

“I...grew up with my sister, Miriam,” he started, balling his hands into fists at his sides. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken Miram’s name out loud. Too long ago, probably. “She raised me, I mean. More or less. And she - uh, she got sick, about a year ago. Our dad had gotten sick with the same thing, when I was really little, and he’d died from it. But Levering, where we lived, didn’t have a doctor who knew how to fix what was wrong with her, and I thought…”

He trailed off, swallowing to try and force some saliva into his mouth. It felt dry. The King was watching him raptly, and the noise of the other Good Guys in the hall had died down again. The only real sound in the cavern was the noise of his own voice, echoing off the high ceilings. Cody hated it.

“I wanted to send her to Canada. I know they have better doctors there. So, I asked Ethan to lend me the money for it. Ten thousand silver.” Cody paused again, but there was no one else to fill the gap in conversation, so he went on. “He lent it to me, and told me I had to pay it back once Miriam was gone, which I thought would be fine. I played guitar for money in the towns around Levering, and took some bounty hunting jobs. But Ethan wanted the money back faster than I could give it to him.”

“And?” the King asked. She still looked fascinated.

“And he chased me down to get it. He cut off my fingers to remind me what I owed him.” Cody held his hand up for the King and the other Good Guys to see the two stumps where his pinky and ring finger had once been. He didn’t like showing it off - he curled his hand back into a fist as soon as he was done, dropping it down to his side.

“Ethan hunted me,” he went on. “And when he caught up to me, I was tired of running. So I killed him.”

The King leaned forward in her seat to look down at him, her eyes bright.

“What about your friends?” she asked. “The ones who are wanted.”

“They didn’t have anything to do with it,” Cody said, defensively. Maybe too defensively. He sighed, and went on. “Val and Friday helped get me to a doctor, when I needed one. John helped me run from Ethan. That’s it. None of them had anything to do with me killing Ethan. That should be on me, but Hemisphere decided it’s not.”

The hall was quiet again, after that. Cody could still feel the Good Guys looking at him, but he still wasn’t about to take his eyes off the King. She was slouched in her seat, frowning, her eyebrows pulled together in thought. Cody rocked on the balls of his feet and watched her, waiting. He’d told his story. Now he had to hope she upheld her end of the deal.

“So you killed your hunter,” the King said, finally. Her lips split into a crooked grin. “I respect that. It’s a good story. Hemisphere hasn’t been kind to you or your friends, but they never are. I’d never take their money - that’s a devil’s bargain.”

Cody frowned. “I thought you were with Hemisphere?”

The King laughed. So did several other members of the Good Guys, their voices bouncing off the cave walls in a bright, mocking chorus, echoed over and over along the hall like the call of a flock of birds. Cody winced.

“With is generous,” the King said. “We don’t like to get involved with their messes, and we like it less when they make us get involved. We’re not with anyone but ourselves.”

“But you respect the rules of parley,” Cody said, pointedly.

“You’re the one who called a parley, Cody Allison,” the King said, “and you haven’t even asked me for anything yet.”

She was right. Cody had been letting her lead the parley, going along with what the King had asked of him, and he had almost forgotten that he was supposed to be on equal footing with her. Technically, he could ask her anything and the worst she could do was refuse, or offer a trade he wasn’t willing to make. But the King had already offered free passage for the circus, so what else was there?

“Fine,” he said, aloud. “Let me think of something.”

“Be my guest,” the King said. Her eyes hadn’t left him, still boring into Cody like he was the most entertainment she’d seen in weeks.

Cody didn’t take too long to settle on a question. He thought about asking, formally, how the King and the Good Guys knew so much about him without ever meeting him, but that was just a curiosity. That wouldn’t help much, not in the wider scheme of things. In the long term, there was only really one thing he wanted enough to bargain with the King for.

“I want to know something that will put me a step ahead of Hemisphere,” he said. “If you’re not with Hemisphere, then you can be with me, and you can help me run.”

The King’s eyebrows shot up. She laughed again - just her this time, a thousand echoes of her voice joining her from throughout the cavern. It was impossible to tell if the laughter was mocking or not, but something about the request seemed to have tickled her. She laughed long and loud, until Cody was sure he saw tears pooling in her eyes, and then abruptly stopped.

“And what do I get in return?” she asked, her voice dangerously steady.

“What do you want?” Cody asked, once again steeling himself. He could, he reminded himself, deny her what she asked for, and they would go back and forth until they were both satisfied. He had as much power here as the King did, technically. As long as he remembered to act like it.

The King hummed in thought. Cody immediately had the idea that she already knew what she wanted, but was stalling for some reason. He watched her tap at her chin, then look around the room at the other Good Guys, gears clearly turning in her mind, and something in his stomach twisted. He had no idea what she was going to ask, but he knew he wouldn’t like it.

“We have a ritual,” the King said, finally, “that every Good Guy does, once they’re of age. If you agree to do it, we’ll trust you with that information - like we would any one of us.”

“What’s the ritual?” Cody asked, because he knew better than to agree before hearing the full terms of the deal.

“You have to crawl through a cave,” the King said. “One end to the other. By yourself, in the dark.”

The reply was almost instantaneous, like she’d known what he was about to ask. Then again, she knew a lot of things - or she said she did. She grinned again, lips peeling back far enough to reveal a missing tooth in the top row. “We call it the Birth Canal.”

13.5 || 13.7

[bigskydreaming]

Going through some old pages on the wiki I keep for my projects (can not more highly recommend building a private wiki site for yourself if you’re a writer with a ton of different or extensive projects. Soooo helpful at keeping me organized).

Anyway, came across this old short story I wrote set in the days of the Holy Wars from the Citadel ‘verse I was talking about a couple weeks ago, that was the original setting for what became By Lost Ways. Tossing it out there in case anyone wants a read. Its fairly short and is a glimpse at the future gods of Night and Day from that ‘verse, Adana and Reyus. *Shrugs*

Even Heaven Can Break

“God is dead.” Nerrick sighed and pulled off his glasses, mopping at them again with his now wrinkled shirt front. It wasn’t as though he held any great hopes that clearer vision might give him any further insight into the utterly inscrutable - and likely insane - young woman sitting across the table from him. He‘d already tested that theory and found it lacking. It simply gave him something to do. An ever so slight distraction from the roundabout circles they‘d been engaged in since - what was it now? Some six hours past? 

“Yes,” he heaved, long past the point of trying to disguise his weariness. “You’ve said as much, multiple times. I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate?” The girl - and she was nothing more than a girl, no matter what foolish superstitions she’d inspired amongst the lower classes - smiled again that same enigmatic smile that half made him wish he was a man more inclined to act on violent urges. 

“God is dead,” she repeated with a small, careless shrug. “It seems a fairly straightforward statement of fact. I’m confused as to what more you expect me to say on the matter, Sir Magistrate.” His back molars ground together audibly. His patience maintained only by the constant vigilance of his temper. Nerrick reminded himself, not for the first time that morning, that he was a man noted for his restraint, his even temperament and unemotional dedication to justice. He was not about to be bested in a contest of wills by some ignorant, backwoods child, in his own prison. 

The small dank room stank of mildew and rot, not to say anything of the havoc the dim torchlight was wreaking upon his fragile eyesight. Only his own personal ethics kept him from abandoning the girl to a more permanent exile in the deeper catacombs, an option that grew more appealing by the moment. 

But as long as the possibility remained that she was merely repeating some heretical pagan belief, unaware of the repercussions her words had upon more civilized folk, he could not in good conscience treat her as just another rabble-rouser. Or, the Citadel guard against, condemn her to a space in the asylums, no matter how mad she seemed. Sitting comfortably three levels below the surface of the great granite and steel prison as though she were some grand lady awaiting tea in her parlor. . “Perhaps you speak of another god unknown to me,” Nerrick conceded gracefully. The wooden chair, almost entirely rotted through, creaked ominously beneath him as he shifted his weight, but God above, even his ass was falling asleep. Still she remained poised, back ramrod straight and never shifting those dark, pupil-less eyes from his. He was a man of reason and science and knew the unnerving Berut eyes to be nothing more than an unfortunate physical trait of her people, but it was easy enough to see how they’d gained their reputation for witchcraft and beguilement. Only the sternest of wills kept his gaze locked with hers. “I admit to being unfamiliar with all the customs of your people, and perhaps we speak of two entirely separate entities. The God of my people is eternal. He created everything we know, and much else besides, and He will endure when all else has turned to dust. He can not die.” “No.” Still she smiled. “There is only one God. In this, my people believe much the same as you. But you speak of faith, things that you can not know but believe to be true. I speak of fact. God is dead. This I know.” He tried reason. “God is the creator of all, and has no peer. If you admit this to be true yourself, then how can God possibly die?” She shrugged again. “Perhaps he willed himself to die. One can imagine eternity might grow tiresome after a time.” Nerrick could almost agree with that sentiment, as for a moment, he entertained the blasphemous thought that even God could be moved to suicide after sufficient time spent with this wretched creature. He dispelled such thoughts with a shake of his head - down that road lay this girl’s particular stamp of madness, no doubt. He tried another tack. “God created the universe. If He is gone, how is it that we are not? Shouldn’t the creation end with the creator?” “Perhaps it is ending, and it just hasn’t finished yet. We can hardly expect the universe to work on the same timetable as ourselves.”

“Tell me then,” he finally indulged her. “What makes you so certain God is dead?” “I saw him.” He sketched disbelief with an aged ashen brow. “You saw God.” “We seem to find a language barrier between us again, Sir Magistrate. Is my Erudi not accomplished enough for our conversation? Among my people, I’m considered quite proficient in your tongue, but perhaps I’ve been misled.” Nerrick flushed. Her Erudi was quite fine - more than, in fact, if a bit stilted. Another minor detail that bothered him, though he could not say why. How did such a young representative of an infamously uneducated people come to speak his tongue with the skill of the most lettered gentry? He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “How do you know that the man you saw was God?” “Wouldn’t you know God if you saw him?” “God is above humanity,” he rasped impatiently. “He doesn’t appear in human form. Should we see him, we’d hardly be capable of comprehending his glory.” Her lips moved in what he imagined to be an expression of pity. It was impossible to be sure, the way her eyes resisted any attempt to read emotion in them. They quivered like liquid night, reflecting the faint torchlight as unsteady flames alit on twin seas of oil. “You speak again of what you believe, because you have never known otherwise. I have known otherwise, and speak again of what I know.” “Enough!” His hand cracked down on the wooden table top, spearing his palm with splinters. His reddened face, already contorted in rage, barely registered the pain. Her face registered nothing at all - just the same painted mask of gentle amusement she’d worn since first escorted down here in the company of his guards. And it was a mask, he was sure of it now. She was too clever with her words to be either ignorant or insane. Whatever game she played at, he wanted no further part in it. “I have no more patience to waste indulging your heresy, and I refuse to subject more of my city’s people to it. You’ve caused nothing but disruption since you first arrived, inciting riots and restlessness among the lower classes, using their faith in service to your own twisted agenda, whatsoever that may be, and it ends here, girl.” She remained unmoved. A pale statue in a plain white dress, inky black curls spilling down both shoulders like curtains cut from the same cloth as those damnable eyes. Her lips twitched. “You may call me Adana.” Nerrick froze, save for where his chest heaved like the billows of a forge, grasping greedily at air to feed his exertions. The tinglings up and down his spine were more than just pinched nerves from too long sitting in one position. This girl, with her damn eyes and impenetrable nerves and heretical talk was more than just some insolent brat from the savage lands north of the city. He was no longer completely convinced there was nothing to the stories and legends of Berutian bewitchery. But those eyes held him now, and he didn’t think he could look away even if he willed it. “You resist giving me your name for these past several hours, and now offer it freely, without me even asking. Why?” “It no longer matters,” Adana told him, heaving a sigh of her own for the first time all morning. Nerrick almost felt that there was regret in that sigh, but her painted mask hid that as well as any other emotion, were it there at all. “For what it’s worth, it was never my aim to disrupt the peace of your city. Call it an unfortunate symptom…nothing more, nothing less.” “Then why?” “Everything you know is about to change,” she said gently. “Well, not for you, I suppose, but for them. They needed to know. It’s time for man to take charge of his own destiny, not spend the coming days huddled in shrines chanting desperate prayers to a deity dead and gone. They won‘t listen, not nearly enough of them at any rate, but some maybe.” Why not for me, Nerrick wondered, but instead he merely asked, “Why now? Why do you tell me all this now, when before it was just a game to you?” Adana laughed, a low throaty chuckle laced again with that hint of pity. “It no longer matters,” she said again. “You want to be here,” Nerrick intuited suddenly. “You evaded the guards for over a week, and then when they arrested you today, you hardly resisted. Like you wanted to go with them. Why? Why now, why here? What is it you want?” “To wait. Here with you.” And then, before he could ask for what, she continued. “There’s a mountain two day’s journey north of here by horseback. My people call it the Degatoi. Yours call it the Foothill, I believe. They say that’s where the Citadel rests, where God makes his home.” “That’s just a myth,” he frowned. “God doesn’t dwell amongst his creations, the Citadel exists in a realm untouchable by our own.” “Some myths are make believe. Others are facts that have since been forgotten. I believed it to be fact, as do my people. So I journeyed there, a pilgrimage of sorts. My…reasons are my own.” “And did you find the Citadel?” “No, it wasn’t there anymore. It moved. It does that, you know.” “Of course,” Nerrick snorted. “Why wouldn’t it?” “Why indeed,” Adana smile wryly. She smoothed her dress in her lap. “I did however, find God. He was lying at the base of the peak. Roughly your height, wearing unfamiliar clothes, though I suppose that’s only to be expected. His hair was strange, almost feathery, and he looked like no man I’d ever seen before. He was dead. And I looked into his wide, staring eyes and in them beheld the Abyss. And I knew then that he was God, and knew all the mysteries and secrets of the Universe that he’d known then at the last. My people can do that, you see.” Nerrick nodded, numbly. He had heard that, any schoolchild knew that myth of the Berut people, the legend that kept even the greatest sorcerers of the South from their doorstep lest it turn out to be true. They could see into a man’s soul with those strange eyes of theirs, see all the way into them into their deepest, darkest reaches and pull out every twisted secret and hidden truth for accounting. It was the kind of legend he’d always held up to be nonsense, but now, staring into those eyes of myth and reckoning, he knew it to be true. Knew all of it to be true. 

He started to tremble, sweat dotting his brow, tracing salty rivers down the cracked parchment of his skin. The torchlight grew fainter and fainter and the air was dryer and thinner, harder to grasp at. Black flecks spotted his vision, and he took off his glasses again. Wiped them, though he suspected the problem was his eyes, not the spectacles. He’d heard these were all symptoms of a heart-death, but it was hard to worry about such things now. He had to know, had to wonder instead, what kind of things might one see in the eyes of a dead God? What kind of things might one know? “The same things we all know at the end,” Adana said softly. She looked at him in the rapidly regressing torchlight and he knew with the same certainty he knew everything now, that yes, her eyes held pity. For him. “You feel it now, don’t you? When it’s so close, that no reason, no logic, none of the games we play to convince ourselves we don’t know the things our soul senses - that little piece in each of us that’s the smallest sliver of divinity linking us to the rest of the universe - none of them can hide it anymore.” Nerrick shivered and licked chapped paper-dry lips. His voice came out a croak. “Why are you here?” “To wait.” “For what?” “The end.” And then, “I’m sorry.” The earth split with a roar, but to Nerrick, all seemed silent. He leapt back, knocking over his chair with a hoarse shout his ears could never possibly hear over the sound of walls crashing down, thunderous echoes reverberating throughout the small chamber. The stained slate floor rent with a crack right through the center of the room, and he stumbled, tried to right himself, stumbled again as the earth shook and danced and trembled like a living thing, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Dust stormed the air in gray, ominous clouds that twisted into his lungs with every breath he took. The sound and fury buffeted him on all sides, splinters and shards of broken rock bombarding his skin. Pricking, ripping, tearing and gouging. 

His glasses cracked and fell, but before he the torches finally failed, he could still blurrily see the girl, Adana, seated serenely on the other side of the table, riding out the madness with perfect poise and watching him with those damned eyes. He fell himself finally and the ceiling split, raining clouds of dust and slate and broken rafters. One struck him full in the chest, pinning him to the floor. He felt ribs break, felt his terrified screams silenced by a shard of wood spearing him through one lung, all his breath going to granting him a few last gasps of air. Adana’s face filled his blurred vision then. In all the din, there was no chance of hearing her get up from the table and walk over to his side, but then there she was kneeling over him. She looked deep into his eyes. “You see? We all know things, even if we don’t know we know them,” she told him gently. “It’s because we’re all a little bit of God. Or maybe the Universe. Creation. I’m still figuring out where the line separating one from the other begins and ends. You were special, Sir Magistrate. Even if you didn’t know it. Take whatever comfort from that you can.” “Go with God.” Then her hand covered his mouth and nose, and she looked into his wide, staring eyes and beheld in them the Abyss, and all the secrets and mysteries of the Universe he had known at the end. ************* Adana rose with some difficulty, and drew the magistrate’s keys from his belt. She smoothed her dress - it would never be white again, she feared - and made her way to the door over a floor that still quivered and rattled, but only restlessly now. Much of its temper had been spent. The hallway beyond was relatively untouched. She quirked dry lips at divine providence, but perhaps it was more accurate to say she enjoyed the favor of the Universe at the moment. The torches were all spent and broken, save for where one had fallen upon the corpse of one guardsman and set his skin and hair aflame, lighting the gray hall fitfully with its macabre light. It was more than enough to see by. At least, more than enough for her eyes. She stepped over another body and ascended the small, tight stairwell at the end of the hall gracefully. Less so, when she almost ran into the blond, dirtied youth who came clattering down the stairs in the opposite direction. He reared back, startled, and she saw that she’d been accurate in her assessment: he was probably no younger than she herself, but his youth shone from his eyes and the sprightly smile that sprang to his face. She recognized him as one of the city-folk always to be found at her gatherings, listening intently to her words. Reyus, she thought his name was. She smiled. “Milady,” Reyus rasped out. The air was still thick and heavy with dust, and he had to stop and pant for breath before continuing. “We were just coming to rescue you!” He waved aimlessly behind himself with what she took for a stolen sword, perhaps looted from a guardsman dead in the earthquake. Coming down the stairs behind him were another young man and a slightly older woman, similarly ill-equipped. Adana favored them with a bemused smile. “How thoughtful.” Reyus blushed a rosy dawn and pressed his back to the wall to allow her passage by. He followed quickly at her heels as she passed the other two and continued up the stairs - rather like an eager but ill-trained pet, she contemplated with some amusement. “Well, there was a number of us - rather, we thought…we weren’t certain what the magistrate would do to you, and we were concerned…” “So I see,” she murmured as they alighted on the ground levels of the prison and found ten or so more men and women of varying ages and garb awaiting them with anxious expressions. They filled in silently behind them as Adana continued towards the front gates, kicking aside the outstretched limbs of the dead where they littered her path. “And are these all your enemies slain? What fearsome warriors have come to my aid here?” She suspected she might be needling Reyus just to see how much further his face could purple in shame and embarrassment. But it was the end of the world, after all. One should take one’s entertainment wherever they found it. The hues of his face performed admirably. “The rest of the guards fled when the earth shook. We never suspected - milady, what is happening? Is this your doing?” “God is dead,“ she said softly. “Such a thing is not without consequences.“ Adana stooped and unwrapped a relatively undamaged black cloak from one body, throwing it over her shoulders. “You’ll want one as well, I believe,” she told the boy. 

His eyes held hers bravely, and he nodded. His was an interesting soul indeed. A cult had hardly been her intention. Gaining the attention of the magistrate had been her only real aim, and if she happened to seed her own mystery a bit early, and allow it more room to grow - well, that had hardly seemed at cross purposes either. But, she supposed, it was never too early to find one’s faithful. A boy like Reyus might come in handy, and who knew what secrets the others might hold? She nodded decisively, and raised her voice to address them all. “Everything you know is about to change.” “I have a long road to walk ahead of me,” she continued. “It is not for the faint of heart.” She turned and walked from the prison‘s gatehouse. All of them, she noted with some interest, followed close behind. They raised scattered cries and shouts of alarm as they beheld the vista outside, but she barely looked up. She already knew the sky overhead was a dark red as though aflame. Roiling purple thunderclouds collided and went to war, crimson lighting stabbing at one and then another underneath. A long black tear split the heavens, stretching from one horizon to the next. Consequences were to be expected. The streets ahead of them were filled with the ruins of buildings and the bodies of the fallen. Survivors milled about in small groups, suffocating in shock while scattered fires raged. Flames crackled hungrily, fitful tongues licking at the sky and spewing their venom of smoke and ash. She could hear, faintly, the desperate prayers for salvation and succor. She sighed, and would have told them to save their breath, but then, she’d already done so. Reyus spun about, lost for even a direction to point his horror. “Milady, what about them?” Adana shook her head without slowing. “They’ll follow, or they’ll die. This city is not long for this world. It’s too close to a Vein. Nothing more can be done, and the whole world will follow if we do not reach our destination.” “But where are we going?” She favored his persistence with another small smile and drew the hood of her cloak up over her head. “We‘re going to the Citadel. To seek divinity.” It began to rain, thick, heavy drops that were warm to the touch, quickly soaking them through and through. She was glad to have found a black cloak, as the imagery of her white dress stained by this unnatural downpour was not one she cared to contemplate - even if it would already never be white again. She reached out to raise Reyus’ hood for him when he remained too distracted to care. The blood staining his golden hair, still vibrant even beneath the dust of dungeons, was not an image she found herself caring much to contemplate either. His was a curious soul indeed. “Milady, I don’t understand. If God is dead, what divinity do we seek?” Adana laughed, a deep throaty chuckle that echoed through the ruins of the broken city. “Ours,” was all she said. They picked their way through the rubble as the skies continued to bleed.

[tss-grimmverse]

Chapter 2: Gloxinia

it doesn’t mean much

it doesn’t mean anything at all

the life i’ve left behind me is a cold room

Virgil stirred to wide-eyed awareness twice in the night, both times because he thought he heard doors opening. But he was too exhausted to get up and check, and reluctantly settled down after the adrenaline wore off.

The third time he opened his eyes, the sky outside his bedroom window glowed an early morning blue and he desperately needed the restroom.

Groaning, he grabbed his hoodie from where he’d slung it over the headboard the night before, pulled it securely around him, and padded across the hallway. Once finished, he tiptoed cautiously into the main room, finding it exactly as he had left it the night before.

Was he still alone? If the sounds he’d heard were Logan coming in super late, at best the dude was probably still asleep.

Hell, I should still be asleep, Virgil thought, wandering blearily into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, more out of curiosity than actual hunger, and let out a surprised laugh.

“Holy troll shit, that is a lot of jelly,” he murmured, pulling out a jar to read the label. Crofters Organic.

Oh.

That explained the postscript.

The sound of front door opening and closing startled him to his feet. Virgil hastily replaced the jar, lining it back up next to its dozen or so neighbors.

Closing the fridge door, he looked over the counter and found himself face to face with the most gorgeous person he’d ever laid eyes on. His heart stuttered. The newcomer dumped a keyring on the counter…shit, this was Logan?…and adjusted a pair of half-moon glasses.

“You must be Virgil,” he said in a deep, tranquil voice, stepping out of a pair of worn athletic shoes.

Virgil made a croaking noise that tried to become a greeting before getting stuck halfway down his throat.

Logan swept through the apartment, disappearing into the furthest room and reemerging with a towel. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, bark dark and beech smooth, and sparkled in black hair braided into a dozen wavy rows against his scalp. The guy had one of those sculpted, solid builds, all broad, lean planes and bold, sensual lines. An artist’s dream to shade; a little awkward to hug.

Virgil swallowed hard, forcing his poor gay eyes away.

Somehow between the normalcy of the apartment and the weirdly formal note, he had forgotten that Logan was half faery; half Court Fae, in fact, if his looks were any clue. Such faeries were, as a rule, heartbreakingly beautiful.

Upon closer examination, his non-human heritage was obvious. Ears that swept up and back to points on either side of his head, clearly visible to Virgil’s changeling gaze. Frost white streaks that twined through his braids. And those fae, prismatic eyes: the irises an explosion of frost and indigo and smoke that coalesced into a deep slate gray.

Eyes that gazed a little too deep, burned a little too wild behind his glasses.

Virgil knew he ought to say something, but his addled brain had forgotten how to operate his mouth.

“Apologies for my unkempt state,” Logan said as he patted himself down. “I always do my running in the morning before it gets too hot.”

“Uh…yeah,” Virgil muttered, wrenching his gaze from smooth muscles and a graceful sweeping collarbone to Logan’s stormy eyes, so striking in that dark face. “No, I mean…that’s cool.”

Eloquent, Virgil.

Logan eyed him impassively.

Virgil became abruptly and painfully ashamed to be dressed in nothing but ratty boxers and a faded hoodie. Maybe he could just escape into my room and put pants on or would Logan hate me for being rude but maybe he already hates me for being half naked in the living room what the hell is wrong with me…

“Do you drink coffee?”

Logan hung the towel over one of the dining room chairs and swept past Virgil into the kitchen. A trace of that elusive teal scent from the night before followed in his wake, nearly making Virgil swoon. Even his voice was sexy: dark and ocean blue, pleasantly filling the room without being loud.

Kelpie’s mane, Virgil, get your shit together. It’s not like you’ve never seen a hot black dude before.

He pulled his hoodie more tightly around himself.

“Uh, yeah,” he belatedly answered Logan’s question. “Coffee’s great.”

“Personally I like tea.”

Oh. Well, Virgil did usually manage to say the wrong thing.

Logan pulled a Keurig machine from a bottom cabinet and set it up on the counter.

“Herbal, preferably,” he added, “though I have been known to enjoy a good Earl Gray from time to time.”

“Earl Gray.” Virgil forced a chuckle. “You Captain Picard or something?”

His Rennie family had all been very fond of Star Trek, which was the only reason Virgil knew anything about it.

Logan, however, frowned.

“I am Logan Ursae.” He adjusted his glasses. “I assumed the Youngstown Grimms would have at least informed you of my name before sending you here?”

Virgil wasn’t sure if he was being mocked or if the guy was just that literal.

“I meant, like, the Star Trek character, dude. Obviously I know who you are.”

Logan’s mouth twisted and he turned back to the Keurig.

“I’m afraid I am not at all knowledgable about popular human entertainment. I find most of it trite and shallow.”

Virgil scuffed his bare foot uneasily over the carpet. Usually he preferred people to speak their minds instead of fucking around…but this guy took that philosophy a bit far.

He did write that stick-up-the-ass note.

“Do you know that proper peppermint can be frustratingly difficult to procure unless one grows it themselves?” Logan said, once again ignoring the awkward silence that had fallen.

Or maybe Virgil was the only awkward one, as usual.

“And it cannot be grown from seed, only cuttings.”

Virgil made a noncommittal noise, unsure if Logan was even expecting a response at this point.

Logan held out a box of flavored coffees, packed side by side and seemingly organized by color.

“Um…hazelnut if you’ve got it,” Virgil muttered. “Should I, like, help or whatever?”

“Nonsense, you are my guest. Plus my kitchen is not large enough to accommodate two people comfortably.” Logan waved a graceful hand as he filled a copper kettle. “I will start our drinks, and then perhaps we should both get dressed for the day.”

Virgil flushed and pulled his hoodie closer, aware once again that he’d galavanted out here in his underwear and worse, Logan had noticed. Had he seen Virgil ogling his bare chest?

Was that why he kept prattling on about tea?

He’s probably already decided I’m weird and creepy, he’s just waiting for the right moment to call me out…

“Why even have a coffee maker if you don’t drink coffee?” Virgil asked, and then flinched. He had a bad habit of masking his anxiety with belligerence.

It was why people tended not to like him.

Logan’s mouth quirked as he centered a mug under the Keurig. “You are not the first changeling I’ve taken in.”

He brushed past Virgil again (that scent, gods, Virgil’s brain swooned again), heading towards the back bedroom.

“Go and change while I shower,” he threw over his shoulder. “Then we can properly acquaint ourselves with one another.”

With that, the door clicked shut, leaving Virgil alone with a gaping mouth.

“Bloody redcaps,” he muttered, yanking a handful of his faded purple hair. ‘Acquaint ourselves’, my gay ass. Said with a straight face. How the fuck is anyone that oblivious?

“Naughty, naughty thoughts, changeling.” Remy’s amused smirk and sunglasses were just visible from his cabinet’s half-open door. “You’re lucky the Bear’s not a telepath.”

Virgil, flushing, made a rude gesture in the brownie’s direction and stalked to his own room, slamming the door. He then leaned against it and exhaled, his heart still throbbing unsteadily in his chest.

Logan was…not what he had expected.

Virgil wasn’t sure what he had expected, after reading that note from last night. Certainly not some hot nerd with a gorgeous runner’s body and a quiet, self-assured aura, plus a bit bossy, and damn, why do I find that kinda hot?

Remy’s taunt came back to him and he groaned, covering his face. They were naughty thoughts; thoughts a changeling like himself had no business entertaining. A beautiful half-faery deserved far better than a former thrall who’d done the sorts of things Virgil had done…

Plus you haven’t made the best first impression, have you?

Virgil thunked his head against the door, realized he’d been wool-gathering like a moron for several minutes, and went to change clothes. He took a little time to comb his hair and rub a little patchouli oil behind his ears. He wished he owned something nicer than ripped black jeans, faded band t-shirts (mostly metal), and one bulky, black plaid hoodie.

He hated that it suddenly mattered.

When Virgil emerged, Logan had already returned to the kitchen, dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a plain black polo that clung rather unfairly to his arms and torso, and…Virgil almost chuckled at the sight…a blue striped necktie.

Somehow, he made it work.

“Sit where you’d like.” Logan poured hot water into a galaxy mug without turning around. The Keurig spat the last of its sweet smelling contents into a second mug, and Logan carried both to the table.

Virgil sat, feeling self-conscious as Logan passed him his coffee.

Because now the half faery clearly expected them to talk about things.

Virgil hated talking about things.

“I imagine you have questions,” Logan stated without preamble.

“I…guess?” Virgil took a shy sip and winced as it burned his tongue.. “I mean…they didn’t tell me much about you back in Ohio,” he admitted. “Only that you have some ability to hide changelings from other Fae, and that’s why I’d be safe here.”

Logan stirred a generous dollop of honey into his tea, tasted it, grimaced, and added another spoonful. Virgil stared, morbidly fascinated that anyone so doggedly serious would want their drink that sweet.

“My ability to hide you is actually a byproduct of what I am, rather than anything I do.” Logan explained. “Simply put, even as a half-blood, my Court magic burns strong enough to mask yours. A proper Court faery could hide you far better, but finding one who wouldn’t immediately turn you back over to your master would be…”

“Impossible?” Virgil shivered.

“Improbable.”

There were a million questions Virgil probably needed to ask, since he was stuck here. But as usual, his mouth refused to cooperate.

Logan eventually got up to fry a couple eggs and fix some toast, prompting Virgil to ask about the fridge full of jam, which sparked a passionate one-sided rant about fruit spreads, organics, ethics, and the superiority of Crofters that spared Virgil the need to do anything except nod with wide eyes until breakfast was over.

(He was permitted to taste the sacred jam, and had to admit that it was pretty good).

“We will need to pick up Nicodemus this morning,” Logan stated once they’d finished eating and carried their plates to the sink.

“We?” Virgil echoed, choosing to focus on that rather than on who or what a ‘Nicodemus’ might be. He slid his plate into the soapy water as Logan washed, almost dropping it when he accidentally brushed Logan’s forearm. The half-faery’s skin was smooth and pleasantly cool.

“I do not think it safe for you to be left here alone for long periods of time, at least not at first. Therefore you will need to accompany me on errands. I suggest we take thirty minutes to digest and then be on our way.” Logan paused, and turned to properly face Virgil. “If…that is agreeable to you?”

Virgil’s dislike of being ordered around must have been visible on his face. He schooled it to neutrality and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Good impression, Virgil, come on.

“I mean, I don’t have anything going on until classes start in two weeks, so…you know, whatever you need to do is cool with me.”

Great. Now stop rambling, idiot.

Logan nodded and swept past again, down the hall, and then his bedroom door was closing firmly behind him again. Virgil huffed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Definitely not a man of excess words.

Or, and I’m just spitballing here, he thought wryly as he meandered back to his own room. Maybe he hates you already.

Gloxinia: love at first sight

[itisannak]

Recreate (Calum Hood Smut)

Summary: Calum catches (Y/N) reading a smut fanfic about him. And suggests they recreate it. (Smut / Unprotected Sex) (Request) (Words: 4k)

"Whatcha reading, good looking?" Calum asks me as he enters the bedroom of the suite we are staying in. "Nothing." I reply, locking my phone and dropping it on my side before I raise my gaze towards him. My eyes land on his tan skin, complemented by his numerous tattoos; I scan his body shamelessly, taking in every muscle, every inch of flesh. The towel that is hanging low on his hips makes my heart pound faster at the sight. "Damn it... How do you do that?" I mumble under my breath, sitting on my knees on the mattress. "Do what?" He asks like he doesn't understand what I am talking about. "That..." I say, pointing out his body from head to toe. He smirks at me, licking his lips as he crawls on the bed towards me, making me lay on my back. "Like what you see, princess?" He asks, cradling my chin in his hand. "Is there ever a time that I don't?" I ask back, my eyes stubbornly focusing on his plump lips. "I've got you hooked to me..." He teases me, bringing his lips inches before mine. "Look who's talking now..." I whisper, my hand reaching up to trace his neck. He shivers under my touch, closing his eyes. "What were you reading before?" He asks me again, slowly leaning down to engulf my lips in his. "Nothing." I reply, in between short breaths. "Please... You were far too absorbed into whatever that was, you didn't even notice I was standing in there gawking at you." He says, licking his lips. I tug my bottom lip between my teeth and take a breath. "Promise you won't laugh. Or mock me, or whatever." I say as I reach for my phone blindly. "When have I?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow at me. I unlock my phone and hand it to him, letting him read the imagine I was reading before I got caught. He gets off of me, sitting on the bed as his eyes follow the words in front of him.

I sit awkwardly next to him, trying to read his face as he is reading the story. "You know that I am better at this than they are describing me in here, right?" He asks, still not taking his eyes off the screen. "I know." I state, fiddling with my thumbs. "Then why are you reading those? Not that I am shaming you or anything, I just want to see your reason behind it." He says, making me shrug. "I guess sometimes, I like the plot. Some of those writers are crazy talented, and other times I just feel like those stories are kind of alternatives for our story." I say, bringing a smile to his lips. "And other times you just want to see all those people dream about getting dicked down the way you are." He smirks at me, handing me back my phone. "I have an idea..." He says, moving towards me. His hands travel to the shirt of his that I am wearing to bed, pulling the collar to the side until it is revealing my shoulder. "Tell me about it, baby." I bite my lip. "You are going to read the story. And I will do to your body whatever the fuck it says in there." He suggests, pulling my chin up to reveal my neck. "You want to do that?" I ask surprised, shifting in my spot as I start feeling tingling. "Of course I want to. I want to see if I can make you feel better than those stories are describing. I want you to remember that every time you read those things. So, are you ready to roleplay ourselves, pretty girl?" He asks, kissing my neck. My eyes flutter at the feeling, making me gulp down the thickness in my throat. I simply nod, biting my bottom lip just at the thought of it.

Calum enters the room slowly, untying his tie as he huffs out. I wait for him, sprawled out on the bed, wearing the lingerie set he purchased for me earlier this week. "Hey, daddy. Did you have fun at work?" I ask in a voice as soft as the silk of my robe. In response, he releases a groan, dropping his briefcase on the floor with a thud. Calum follows the 'script' perfectly, getting right in the mood. He enters the room enticingly, footsteps echoing against the wooden floor. "Hey, daddy. Did you have fun at work?" I ask, almost in a whisper. I fix my marabou robe to reveal the lingerie under it. Calum takes a moment to look at my body, clad in the lingerie before he clears his throat and gets back into his role. He groans, his fingers working in untying his tie. In mere minutes, he was dressed in his best suit, which fitted his body perfectly in every way. He groans, dropping his jacket on the floor since a briefcase wasn't available.

"Work is not supposed to be fun, princess. Work is supposed to be serious and hard. You are here to complete the fun part." Calum says sternly, taking a seat on the bed. He licks his lush lips as he observes my outfit. "Here for your entertainment, daddy." I smile, while his hand creeps up my thigh. "Like a good, obedient girl. That's why you are my weakness, princess." He chuckles, softly stroking my leg. "Work is not supposed to be fun, princess. You are here for that part." He chuckles, sitting across of me on the bed. He licks his lips, taking a closer look at the meshy set I choose for tonight. "Always here for your entertainment, daddy." I smile as he starts feeling my leg. "Like my perfect little girl... Always obedient. That's why you are my only weakness, pretty girl." He chuckles, reaching for my inner thigh.

"You look really good tonight, princess. So good that you make me forget all my problems at work." He groans, shaking his head. My hands reach up to undo the buttons of his shirt, releasing him a little from the suffocating clothe. "That was my goal, daddy. I wanted to show off the gift you got me this week, to give you a great start for the weekend." I smile sweetly, sitting up on my knees to get closer to him. He seems to enjoy the feeling of my hands on his skin, relaxing a little under my touch. "Uh... I see that someone is trying to get into my good favors." He hums, his hand resting over my clothed sex. "More like thanking you for spoiling me." I whine, eager to feel him please me. "I see. Well, in that case, nothing would please me more than seeing you naked in the following minute." He whispers, kissing my collarbone as he pulls my robe to the side. "You look really good tonight, princess. So good that I've already forgotten all of my work's problems." Calum groans, shaking his head as he scans my barely covered body. I love how he is making the scenario his own, not just sticking to it, but giving it character. I reach up to his shirt to undo the top buttons, slowly peeling it off to reveal the ink swirling along his skin. "That's my goal, daddy. Make you forget everything, show off the gift you got me and give you a great start for the weekend." I smile, standing on my knees to bring myself closer to him like our "script" is describing. Calum writhes under my touch, especially when my nail grazes his skin. "Uh... I see that you want to get onto my good favors." He teases me, his hand pressing onto my sex. I feel my clit throb as his hand slightly moves against it. "Mmm, this is more like a thank you for spoiling me, daddy." I moan, now more than before impatient to see how this whole thing plays out. "I see. Well, since you want to thank me, I should tell you that nothing would please me more than seeing you naked before my eyes in the following minute." He whispers in his low, deep voice, before his lips land on my collarbone while his hands pull my robe until my shoulder is exposed.

"Your wish is my command, daddy. But before I strip for you, I should make sure you are comfortable, to enjoy the show under the best conditions." I whisper, straddling his lap as my hands travel upwards to undo his shirt. Calum watches my every move, like a hawk. I know he gets this whole bossy mood from his work as the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the country, but I love how he has found the perfect way to apply this on me, on our relationship. As his shirt slips down his arms, I move back a little, to undo his pants as well. While I pull the zipper down, I feel his already hard cock, making me gulp down. I crave him; there is no man I've craved more in my life. "Is everything alright, princess?" He asks me, a cocky smirk pulling his lips back. "Everything is perfectly alright, daddy." I smile, snapping out of my haze. "As you wish, daddy. But before I strip for you, we should make sure that you are comfortable, as to enjoy the little show I am going to put on for you, under the best conditions." I whisper, moving until I am straddling his lap while my hands go to his shirt and undo the remaining buttons. More skin is revealed, more ink, more muscles, making my breathing harder. Calum watches me, eyes hungry and demanding for more. He might not be the CEO of a company like in this fanfic, but still, the bossiness and toughness are here, even without following the script. I let the white shirt slide down his shoulders and arms, moving back to undo his pants as well. Like in the story, I feel his boner as I graze my fingers over it while pulling down the zipper. "Is everything alright, princess?" Calum follows his role, mimicking the smirk. "Everything is perfectly fine, daddy." I smile, taking a deep breath before I read some more of the story.

Calum stands up to kick his pants off, remaining in his briefs as he guides me up, off the mattress. "Put on your best show for me, princess. And I promise you will get the best treat ever in the morning." Calum says softly, taking back his seat on the bed. "You are my treat, daddy." I smile innocently, swinging my hips from side to side as I undo the bow of my robe. The fabric slips easily off my body, stroking my body with my fingertips. I dance to the rhythm of my favorite song, the melody playing in my head. Calum gawks at me, eyes dark with lust and face tensed with anticipation. I know better than to strip fast. No matter how much I want to just present my body naked to him and feel him inside me. "Bra, first." Calum commands, eyes glued to my body. I stand up from the bed as Calum kicks off his pants and stays in his briefs, relaxing back on his seat. "I will need you to put on your best show for me, pretty girl. And I promise to get you the best treat ever in the morning." Calum says, in a soft, yet demanding voice, his hands resting on my hips for a moment. "You are my treat, daddy." I smile innocently, looking at his hands as they rest on my body. I guide my hands to undo the bow, letting the marabou robe slip down my body and onto the floor. I touch my body with my fingertips, moving my hips slowly, teasingly. I feel motivated by the way he is looking at me; I don't know if it is because of the story, or because he is so into my moves, but he looks at me lustfully, longingly. And that makes me want to rip everything off my body and lay down, let him do whatever the fuck he wants to my body. "Remove your bra, first." He commands in a hiss, eyes scanning up and down my body.

I follow Calum's demand, reaching back to unfasten the bra. The garment slides down my arms, revealing my breasts. I feel my nipples harden, a hand tracing the valley between my breasts before I cup one of them in my palm. I tug on my nipple, throwing my head back and moaning. I know that this will provoke him, make his cock harder than it already is. "Don't push your luck, princess. I am the one allowed to do that tonight." He groans, pulling me by my wrist to the bed. I squeal, squirming against the mattress as I try to make myself comfortable. I undo my bra and let it fall on the floor. There is not much of a difference since my Fenty bra was made of mesh, so my body was easily seen naked even with it on. I push my hair back and bring my hand to fondle my breasts. I pull my on my nipple and groan, for the first time since we started this getting some intense pleasure. "Don't... Please don't. I am the one who is supposed to do that tonight." He says, snatching my hand away and pulling me to lay on the bed by my wrist. I can't help but giggle a little, this whole 'following the script' as a roleplay looking a little funny now.

"I need you to be a good girl for me. Can you do that for me, pretty?" Calum asks me, his hand resting on my hipbone under my panties. "Of course, daddy." I breathe out, bucking my hips up involuntarily as his touch makes me all worked up. "Good girl. Now, get on your hands and knees, love. Ass up, chest down." He commands, flipping me on my stomach. I giggle, getting in position and sticking my ass out for him. His fingers peel off my panties, before his thumb presses between my lips, feeling my wetness. He moves his thumb back and forth making my body spasm with every flick. "I need you to be a good girl for me. Can you do that for me, babygirl?" Calum asks, hovering above me and resting his hand on my hip bone under my panties. "Of course, daddy." I breathe out, smiling. I try to move my hips against his hand, wanting to get his hand as close to my sex as possible. I want to feel him touch me, now more than ever. "Good girl. Now, get on your hands and knees, princess. Ass up..." He orders, flipping me on my stomach. I bite my bottom lip as I stretch my ass out for him, turning my head a little to take a look at him. He follows the fic's plot and peels of my panties, bringing them to my knees. He presses his thumb against my slit, moving it a little to pay attention to my clit.

And without warning me, he thrusts inside me. His throbbing cock slips inside me with ease, while his hands grip onto my hips firmly. I let out a small cry, feeling Calum stretch me a little. Calum guides my hips on his cock, groaning as he gives me more of his length. "You feel so good around my cock, princess." He hisses, giving me one hard thrust. I wince, falling a little forward from the ram. "You feel so good inside me, daddy." I whimper, moving my ass to get more of him inside me. Calum brings one hand to push my head down on the mattress, as I grip onto the bedsheets below us. "You are my perfect girl." He groans, picking up on the rhythm. I feel him run his tip along my folds a little before he slides in me, groaning as he goes. "What does the fic says happens next?" He asks, slowly moving back out of me. "You are not supposed to break character." I protest, earning a slap on my ass. I whimper, biting my lip at the feeling. "Tell me what it is saying." He orders, chuckling lightly. "You should grip on my hips and tell me I feel good around you." I say, moaning as he thrusts deeper in me. "Well, this fic is not far away from reality. You feel so good around my cock, princess." He chuckles, giving me a deep thrust that makes me whimper. "You feel so good inside me, daddy." I reply, moving my ass to bounce on his cock. He chuckles as he brings one hand to push my head down on the mattress, fisting on my hair. "You are my perfect girl." He groans, thrusting faster.

Instead of letting me read the next passage like he is supposed to, Calum wraps over my chest and forces me to stand straight, causing a squeal to escape my lips. "What are you doing? You are supposed to let me read the next one." I say in between breaths, while Calum still thrusts inside me. "I am improvising, princess." He whispers in my ear, kissing my neck after he is done. "So, no more roleplaying?"I ask, moving my hips to bounce on his cock. "Come on, princess. You know I can fuck you way better than those stories are describing... But let's keep the option open..." He bites on my neck, while his other travels down my body and reaches between my legs, stroking my clit in fast circles. I moan happily, the feeling of his calloused fingers making my stomach flip. I rest my head on his shoulder, moving my body to meet his thrusts. "Feels good, huh?" He chuckles knowingly. His tip hits right on my spot, making my body jolt a little. "So good. I love this so much." I turn my head to the side, pressing my lips on his neck. His hand that rests on my chest presses me more on his body, holding me firmly. His hips pound against my ass, making the sound of skin on skin echo throughout the room. "I want to cum inside your pretty little tight pussy so badly." Calum breathes out, his voice coming out as a hiss. "Do it. I need to feel you... I need to feel your cum in me." I whisper, my walls pulsing at the thought. "No princess... You get to finish first. I need to feel your walls do the thing that I like." He moans, moving his fingers even faster. It feels like bliss, being tangled with him, two bodies being like one for those moments. The thrusts die down slowly, becoming sloppier, but deeper. His lips press against my skin, everywhere that is possible. Cheek, jaw, neck, shoulder, everywhere his lips can reach. The knot in my stomach tightens up, toes curl and my body becomes uneasy, restless. I feel like my skin is on fire, I feel like I am in heaven. "Cal..." I cry out, half in my haze. "Let go, princess. Cum for me." He groans, turning my head, even more, to press his lips on mine. I feel him bite on my bottom lip, adding to the sensation and letting my orgasm wash over me. Calum holds me still as I ride the wave of pleasure, thrusting in me as he hisses to reach his own peak. "You feel so good around me, babygirl. You feel so good pulsing around me..." Calum groans, head bowing until his forehead rests on my shoulder. "Cum in me... Cum, please." I plead, my hand reaching for the one of his that moves between my legs and digging my nails in his flesh. His gruff voice fills my ears, while he cums in me, sending me into a deeper trance. This is a different kind of high, one that those stories will always fail to describe. "God, I love you so fucking much." He whispers in my ear, his voice breaking as his breath becomes hitched. "I love you so fucking much." I repeat, smiling to myself.

As we both come out of our haze, we collapse on the bed, smiling knowingly as we stare on the ceiling. "Want a cigarette?" Calum asks, leaning his onto his elbow to take a look at me. I turn to him, lip tugged between my teeth in an effort to stop that stupid smile on my face. "I'll smoke some of yours... But are we even allowed to smoke in here?" I ask, making Calum chuckle. "Why do you always have to be so law-abiding?" He groans. "That's one of the reasons why you love me." I giggle. "Come on, let's go to the balcony." He says, handing me the bedsheet as he wraps his towel around his hips and grabs his pack of cigarettes from the nightstand.

I wrap my body in the bedsheet, following Calum outside. It's well past midnight, so it's chilly, but as Calum wraps his arms around me to hug me from behind, I find comfort in the night chill. "You are too beautiful for my own good. I swear you are going to give me a heart condition one day." Calum whispers before he lights the cigarette. "I am gonna give you a heart condition? Not this stick between your lips?" I giggle as he drags in the smoke. "You are far more dangerous for me than this one." He chuckles, placing the cigarette between my lips. I turn my head to look at him as I take in a drag of smoke. Watching Calum smoke has always been my favorite thing, my secret turn on. And watching his lips blow out the smoke does the same thing to me right now as all of the previous times. "And how am I dangerous for your health, Mr. Calum Thomas Hood?" I ask, turning around to look at him as I blow out the smoke. "Well, you make my heart stop every time I look at you, you make my breath hitch every time you touch me, you make my knees weak every time your lips are on mine. Soon, I'll be 30 and you will have me wrecked." He smiles, taking the cigarette off my fingers. "Even after almost 3 years, I have that much of an effect on you?" I ask, parting my lips as he is about to let out the smoke. He chuckles before he blows the smoke in my mouth and pulls me into a kiss. "You will always have that much of an effect on me, pretty girl." He states, pecking on my forehead. "Good..." I smile at him, taking the cigarette from his hand. Calum smiles at me, taking a deep breath as he strokes my face. "I want to hold you forever." He says, pulling me into his chest. "I want you to hold me forever." I reply, placing a kiss on his bare chest. "Good." He replies, stroking my back. I press the cigarette between my fingers to put it out, deciding that the cold has become too much to handle for the both of us. "Let's get in. I need my after sex cuddles." I say, taking his hand in mine. Calum chuckles, pressing a tender kiss on my forehead before we begin walking inside. I throw the butt of the cigarette in the trash bin after I make sure that it has been put out completely. Calum crawls on the bed, fixing the pillows so it is comfortable enough for both of us. I let the sheet fall from my body as I crawl on the bed along with him. "See, the death of me." He smiles, letting me rest on his chest. I hear his heartbeat, slow and steady, calming, soothing. I love being like this with him; he is the first person that makes me feel safe, like everything in this world, in my world, is in order. "I love you." I whisper, cuddling up to his chest. "I love you." He whispers back, stroking my arm slowly.

My Masterlist

[bigskywritings]

Even Heaven Can Break

A tale of the Citadel, and of Endings, and Beginnings

“God is dead.” Nerrick sighed and pulled off his glasses, mopping at them again with his now wrinkled shirt front. It wasn’t as though he held any great hopes that clearer vision might give him any further insight into the utterly inscrutable - and likely insane - young woman sitting across the table from him. He‘d already tested that theory and found it lacking. It simply gave him something to do. An ever so slight distraction from the roundabout circles they‘d been engaged in since - what was it now? Some six hours past?

“Yes,” he heaved, long past the point of trying to disguise his weariness. “You’ve said as much, multiple times. I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate?” The girl - and she was nothing more than a girl, no matter what foolish superstitions she’d inspired amongst the lower classes - smiled again that same enigmatic smile that half made him wish he was a man more inclined to act on violent urges.

“God is dead,” she repeated with a small, careless shrug. “It seems a fairly straightforward statement of fact. I’m confused as to what more you expect me to say on the matter, Sir Magistrate.” His back molars ground together audibly. His patience maintained only by the constant vigilance of his temper. Nerrick reminded himself, not for the first time that morning, that he was a man noted for his restraint, his even temperament and unemotional dedication to justice. He was not about to be bested in a contest of wills by some ignorant, backwoods child, in his own prison.

The small dank room stank of mildew and rot, not to say anything of the havoc the dim torchlight was wreaking upon his fragile eyesight. Only his own personal ethics kept him from abandoning the girl to a more permanent exile in the deeper catacombs, an option that grew more appealing by the moment.

But as long as the possibility remained that she was merely repeating some heretical pagan belief, unaware of the repercussions her words had upon more civilized folk, he could not in good conscience treat her as just another rabble-rouser. Or, the Citadel guard against, condemn her to a space in the asylums, no matter how mad she seemed. Sitting comfortably three levels below the surface of the great granite and steel prison as though she were some grand lady awaiting tea in her parlor. .

“Perhaps you speak of another god unknown to me,” Nerrick conceded gracefully. The wooden chair, almost entirely rotted through, creaked ominously beneath him as he shifted his position, but God above, even his ass was falling asleep. Still she remained poised, back ramrod straight and never shifting those dark, pupil-less eyes from his. He was a man of reason and science and knew the unnerving Berut eyes to be nothing more than an unfortunate physical trait of her people, but it was easy enough to see how they’d gained their reputation for witchcraft and beguilement. Only the sternest of wills kept his gaze locked with hers. “I admit to being unfamiliar with all the customs of your people, and perhaps we speak of two entirely separate entities. The God of my people is eternal. He created everything we know, and much else besides, and He will endure when all else has turned to dust. He can not die.” “No.” Still she smiled. “There is only one God. In this, my people believe much the same as you. But you speak of faith, things that you can not know but believe to be true. I speak of fact. God is dead. This I know.” He tried reason. “God is the creator of all, and has no peer. If you admit this to be true yourself, then how can God possibly die?” She shrugged again. “Perhaps he willed himself to die. One can imagine eternity might grow tiresome after a time.” Nerrick could almost agree with that sentiment, as for a moment, he entertained the blasphemous thought that even God could be moved to suicide after sufficient time spent with this wretched creature. He dispelled such thoughts with a shake of his head - down that road lay this girl’s particular stamp of madness, no doubt. He tried another tack. “God created the universe. If He is gone, how is it that we are not? Shouldn’t the creation end with the creator?” “Perhaps it is ending, and it just hasn’t finished yet. We can hardly expect the universe to work on the same timetable as ourselves.”

“Tell me then,” he finally indulged her. “What makes you so certain God is dead?” “I saw him.” He sketched disbelief with an aged ashen brow. “You saw God.” “We seem to find a language barrier between us again, Sir Magistrate. Is my Erudi not accomplished enough for our conversation? Among my people, I’m considered quite proficient in your tongue, but perhaps I’ve been misled.” Nerrick flushed. Her Erudi was quite fine - more than, in fact, if a bit stilted. Another minor detail that bothered him, though he could not say why. How did such a young representative of an infamously uneducated people come to speak his tongue with the skill of the most lettered gentry? He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “How do you know that the man you saw was God?” “Wouldn’t you know God if you saw him?” “God is above humanity,” he rasped impatiently. “He doesn’t appear in human form. Should we see him, we’d hardly be capable of comprehending his glory.” Her lips moved in what he imagined to be an expression of pity. It was impossible to be sure, the way her eyes resisted any attempt to read emotion in them. They quivered like liquid night, reflecting the faint torchlight as unsteady flames alit on twin seas of oil. “You speak again of what you believe, because you have never known otherwise. I have known otherwise, and speak again of what I know.” “Enough!” His hand cracked down on the wooden table top, spearing his palm with splinters. His reddened face, already contorted in rage, barely registered the pain. Her face registered nothing at all - just the same painted mask of gentle amusement she’d worn since first escorted down here in the company of his guards. And it was a mask, he was sure of it now. She was too clever with her words to be either ignorant or insane. Whatever game she played at, he wanted no further part in it. “I have no more patience to waste indulging your heresy, and I refuse to subject more of my city’s people to it. You’ve caused nothing but disruption since you first arrived, inciting riots and restlessness among the lower classes, using their faith in service to your own twisted agenda, whatsoever that may be, and it ends here, girl.” She remained unmoved. A pale statue in a plain white dress, inky black curls spilling down both shoulders like curtains cut from the same cloth as those damnable eyes. Her lips twitched. “You may call me Adana.” Nerrick froze, save for where his chest heaved like the billows of a forge, grasping greedily at air to feed his exertions. The tinglings up and down his spine were more than just pinched nerves from too long sitting in one position. This girl, with her damn eyes and impenetrable nerves and heretical talk was more than just some insolent brat from the savage lands north of the city. He was no longer completely convinced there was nothing to the stories and legends of Berutian bewitchery. But those eyes held him now, and he didn’t think he could look away even if he willed it. “You resist giving me your name for these past several hours, and now offer it freely, without me even asking. Why?” “It no longer matters,” Adana told him, heaving a sigh of her own for the first time all morning. Nerrick almost felt that there was regret in that sigh, but her painted mask hid that as well as any other emotion, were it there at all. “For what it’s worth, it was never my aim to disrupt the peace of your city. Call it an unfortunate symptom…nothing more, nothing less.” “Then why?” “Everything you know is about to change,” she said gently. “Well, not for you, I suppose, but for them. They needed to know. It’s time for man to take charge of his own destiny, not spend the coming days huddled in shrines chanting desperate prayers to a deity dead and gone. They won‘t listen, not nearly enough of them at any rate, but some maybe.” Why not for me, Nerrick wondered, but instead he merely asked, “Why now? Why do you tell me all this now, when before it was just a game to you?” Adana laughed, a low throaty chuckle laced again with that hint of pity. “It no longer matters,” she said again. “You want to be here,” Nerrick intuited suddenly. “You evaded the guards for over a week, and then when they arrested you today, you hardly resisted. Like you wanted to go with them. Why? Why now, why here? What is it you want?” “To wait. Here with you.” And then, before he could ask for what, she continued. “There’s a mountain two day’s journey north of here by horseback. My people call it the Degatoi. Yours call it the Foothill, I believe. They say that’s where the Citadel rests, where God makes his home.” “That’s just a myth,” he frowned. “God doesn’t dwell amongst his creations, the Citadel exists in a realm untouchable by our own.” “Some myths are make believe. Others are facts that have since been forgotten. I believed it to be fact, as do my people. So I journeyed there, a pilgrimage of sorts. My…reasons are my own.” “And did you find the Citadel?” “No, it wasn’t there anymore. It moved. It does that, you know.” “Of course,” Nerrick snorted. “Why wouldn’t it?” “Why indeed,” Adana smile wryly. She smoothed her dress in her lap. “I did however, find God. He was lying at the base of the peak. Roughly your height, wearing unfamiliar clothes, though I suppose that’s only to be expected. His hair was strange, almost feathery, and he looked like no man I’d ever seen before. He was dead. And I looked into his wide, staring eyes and in them beheld the Abyss. And I knew then that he was God, and knew all the mysteries and secrets of the Universe that he’d known then at the last. My people can do that, you see.” Nerrick nodded, numbly. He had heard that, any schoolchild knew that myth of the Berut people, the legend that kept even the greatest sorcerers of the South from their doorstep lest it turn out to be true. They could see into a man’s soul with those strange eyes of theirs, see all the way into them into their deepest, darkest reaches and pull out every twisted secret and hidden truth for accounting. It was the kind of legend he’d always held up to be nonsense, but now, staring into those eyes of myth and reckoning, he knew it to be true. Knew all of it to be true.

He started to tremble, sweat dotting his brow, tracing salty rivers down the cracked parchment of his skin. The torchlight grew fainter and fainter and the air was dryer and thinner, harder to grasp at. Black flecks spotted his vision, and he took off his glasses again. Wiped them, though he suspected the problem was his eyes, not the spectacles. He’d heard these were all symptoms of a heart-death, but it was hard to worry about such things now. He had to know, had to wonder instead, what kind of things might one see in the eyes of a dead God? What kind of things might one know? “The same things we all know at the end,” Adana said softly. She looked at him in the rapidly regressing torchlight and he knew with the same certainty he knew everything now, that yes, her eyes held pity. For him. “You feel it now, don’t you? When it’s so close, that no reason, no logic, none of the games we play to convince ourselves we don’t know the things our soul senses - that little piece in each of us that’s the smallest sliver of divinity linking us to the rest of the universe - none of them can hide it anymore.” Nerrick shivered and licked chapped paper-dry lips. His voice came out a croak. “Why are you here?” “To wait.” “For what?” “The end.” And then, “I’m sorry.” The earth split with a roar, but to Nerrick, all seemed silent. He leapt back, knocking over his chair with a hoarse shout his ears could never possibly hear over the sound of walls crashing down, thunderous echoes reverberating throughout the small chamber. The stained slate floor rent with a crack right through the center of the room, and he stumbled, tried to right himself, stumbled again as the earth shook and danced and trembled like a living thing, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Dust stormed the air in gray, ominous clouds that twisted into his lungs with every breath he took. The sound and fury buffeted him on all sides, splinters and shards of broken rock bombarding his skin. Pricking, ripping, tearing and gouging.

His glasses cracked and fell, but before he the torches finally failed, he could still blurrily see the girl, Adana, seated serenely on the other side of the table, riding out the madness with perfect poise and watching him with those damned eyes. He fell himself finally and the ceiling split, raining clouds of dust and slate and broken rafters. One struck him full in the chest, pinning him to the floor. He felt ribs break, felt his terrified screams silenced by a shard of wood spearing him through one lung, all his breath going to granting him a few last gasps of air. Adana’s face filled his blurred vision then. In all the din, there was no chance of hearing her get up from the table and walk over to his side, but then there she was kneeling over him. She looked deep into his eyes. “You see? We all know things, even if we don’t know we know them,” she told him gently. “It’s because we’re all a little bit of God. Or maybe the Universe. Creation. I’m still figuring out where the line separating one from the other begins and ends. You were special, Sir Magistrate. Even if you didn’t know it. Take whatever comfort from that you can.” “Go with God.” Then her hand covered his mouth and nose, and she looked into his wide, staring eyes and beheld in them the Abyss, and all the secrets and mysteries of the Universe he had known at the end. ************* Adana rose with some difficulty, and drew the magistrate’s keys from his belt. She smoothed her dress - it would never be white again, she feared - and made her way to the door over a floor that still quivered and rattled, but only restlessly now. Much of its temper had been spent. The hallway beyond was relatively untouched. She quirked dry lips at divine providence, but perhaps it was more accurate to say she enjoyed the favor of the Universe at the moment. The torches were all spent and broken, save for where one had fallen upon the corpse of one guardsman and set his skin and hair aflame, lighting the gray hall fitfully with its macabre light. It was more than enough to see by. At least, more than enough for her eyes. She stepped over another body and ascended the small, tight stairwell at the end of the hall gracefully. Less so, when she almost ran into the blond, dirtied youth who came clattering down the stairs in the opposite direction. He reared back, startled, and she saw that she’d been accurate in her assessment: he was probably no younger than she herself, but his youth shone from his eyes and the sprightly smile that sprang to his face. She recognized him as one of the city-folk always to be found at her gatherings, listening intently to her words. Reyus, she thought his name was. She smiled. “Milady,” Reyus rasped out. The air was still thick and heavy with dust, and he had to stop and pant for breath before continuing. “We were just coming to rescue you!” He waved aimlessly behind himself with what she took for a stolen sword, perhaps looted from a guardsman dead in the earthquake. Coming down the stairs behind him were another young man and a slightly older woman, similarly ill-equipped. Adana favored them with a bemused smile. “How thoughtful.” Reyus blushed a rosy dawn and pressed his back to the wall to allow her passage by. He followed quickly at her heels as she passed the other two and continued up the stairs - rather like an eager but ill-trained pet, she contemplated with some amusement. “Well, there was a number of us - rather, we thought…we weren’t certain what the magistrate would do to you, and we were concerned…” “So I see,” she murmured as they alighted on the ground levels of the prison and found ten or so more men and women of varying ages and garb awaiting them with anxious expressions. They filled in silently behind them as Adana continued towards the front gates, kicking aside the outstretched limbs of the dead where they littered her path. “And are these all your enemies slain? What fearsome warriors have come to my aid here?” She suspected she might be needling Reyus just to see how much further his face could purple in shame and embarrassment. But it was the end of the world, after all. One should take one’s entertainment wherever they found it. The hues of his face performed admirably. “The rest of the guards fled when the earth shook. We never suspected - milady, what is happening? Is this your doing?” “God is dead,“ she said softly. “Such a thing is not without consequences.“ Adana stooped and unwrapped a relatively undamaged black cloak from one body, throwing it over her shoulders. “You’ll want one as well, I believe,” she told the boy.

His eyes held hers bravely, and he nodded. His was an interesting soul indeed. A cult had hardly been her intention. Gaining the attention of the magistrate had been her only real aim, and if she happened to seed her own mystery a bit early, and allow it more room to grow - well, that had hardly seemed at cross purposes either. But, she supposed, it was never too early to find one’s faithful. A boy like Reyus might come in handy, and who knew what secrets the others might hold? She nodded decisively, and raised her voice to address them all. “Everything you know is about to change.” “I have a long road to walk ahead of me,” she continued. “It is not for the faint of heart.” She turned and walked from the prison‘s gatehouse. All of them, she noted with some interest, followed close behind. They raised scattered cries and shouts of alarm as they beheld the vista outside, but she barely looked up. She already knew the sky overhead was a dark red as though aflame. Roiling purple thunderclouds collided and went to war, crimson lighting stabbing at one and then another underneath. A long black tear split the heavens, stretching from one horizon to the next. Consequences were to be expected. The streets ahead of them were filled with the ruins of buildings and the bodies of the fallen. Survivors milled about in small groups, suffocating in shock while scattered fires raged. Flames crackled hungrily, fitful tongues licking at the sky and spewing their venom of smoke and ash. She could hear, faintly, the desperate prayers for salvation and succor. She sighed, and would have told them to save their breath, but then, she’d already done so. Reyus spun about, lost for even a direction to point his horror. “Milady, what about them?” Adana shook her head without slowing. “They’ll follow, or they’ll die. This city is not long for this world. It’s too close to a Vein. Nothing more can be done, and the whole world will follow if we do not reach our destination.” “But where are we going?” She favored his persistence with another small smile and drew the hood of her cloak up over her head. “We‘re going to the Citadel. To seek divinity.” It began to rain, thick, heavy drops that were warm to the touch, quickly soaking them through and through. She was glad to have found a black cloak, as the imagery of her white dress stained by this unnatural downpour was not one she cared to contemplate - even if it would already never be white again. She reached out to raise Reyus’ hood for him when he remained too distracted to care. The blood staining his golden hair, still vibrant even beneath the dust of dungeons, was not an image she found herself caring much to contemplate either. His was a curious soul indeed. “Milady, I don’t understand. If God is dead, what divinity do we seek?” Adana laughed, a deep throaty chuckle that echoed through the ruins of the broken city. “Ours,” was all she said. They picked their way through the rubble as the skies continued to bleed.

[romaniassexdungeon]

Who fortune could not save

Pairing: LadKug

Summary: As his relationship with the eccentric Franz Edelstein grows, Lars Oxenstjärna contemplates how little he knows of the man's past, why that could possibly be, and how much of his own past is worth revealing.

Notes: Well, this is the first in a series of one-shots involving APH ships based on various Pogues songs that are all pretty sad and melancholy because most Pogues songs are depressing as fuck. This one's LadKug and although it could be argued most of these stories take place in the same universe (with the exception of the RoBul and aph Australia ones), the two that are definitely linked to this are the AusHun and SuFin stories, so please look out for those. A lot of these stories are epistolary too, because that's something I want to explore more and I like using them for historical fics.

This particular song is based on 'Thousands are Sailing' and parts of this song also inspired the SuFin and AusHun ones, though they get their own songs too.

Read on AO3

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"In manhattan's desert twilight In the death of afternoon We stepped hand in hand on broadway Like the first man on the moon"

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Franz - Kugelmugel Lars - Ladonia

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18th October, 1952

Franz, my dearest friend,

You said you do not have anyone to send letters to. Well now you have me! I mean, you already had me but now you have me and a letter to read whenever you please. Maybe I can even write to you about things my stupid mouth refuses to say aloud. Or, you know, about the important things. Or about you. Or all three?

For example, I wish I knew what to say about so many things. I wish you were less alone. Where are your parents? Do you not have brothers or sisters? I cannot even believe you came to this country alone. Were you scared? You travelled to England as a child. To live? Your parents let you live on your own like that? Like a grown up? You were so lucky!

I did not mean to make this a letter prying into your personal life. Tell me when you want to.

The truth is, I have no idea what to put in a letter. We see each other every week. I suppose I could complain about Peter, but I do that in person already. Is there anywhere you would like us to go? I feel there is still so much of this city we have yet to explore – and I have lived here since I was three!

All the best,

Your good friend Lars

19th October, 1952

Dear diary,

Trying to recall my earliest memories reminds me of drowning. Like I am surrounded by inky water and clawing my way towards the light. It is like staring at a half-finished painting. Or an abstract work of art whose meaning you have not quite yet grasped.

Trying to put dates and time spans to these memories would be like tearing the pages of this diary out and throwing them on the floor, only to spend days putting them back in order.

This is how I feel trying to remember my papa.

I have one memory of his face. His living face, that is. Warm. Stern, but kind. He was proud of me, I think. Maybe I had taken my first steps? Or fed myself? But he was overjoyed. Was it back in Sweden? Maybe that is my only memory of Sweden, but I have long forgotten everything in the image that was not papa.

In my other memories, he is a corpse.

I remember wondering why papa was sleeping on the table. Why was the blanket covering his face? I was never allowed to hide under the covers – Mr Tino said I might suffocate in the night. He always worried about things like that.

He was crying. I wondered if it was because papa was sleeping under the covers. And on the table.

Papa was a strange man, or so I have since been told.

They put him in a box and buried him in the ground. I tried to climb in after him, wake him up and get him out of there or he’d be scared when he woke up. Mr Tino cried and pulled me out. I thought he might get angry, shout at me and tell me to stop playing, but he never; he just cuddled me as I screamed to get papa out of there.

He didn’t like the dark. What were they doing?

Peter threw flowers into the hole after him. I remember little else.

I have yet to think of the reason I write all this down. Why would I want to document such an event? Then again, these are the only memories of papa I have.

Mr Tino told me to call him Isi. He said he was our new papa, that our real papa had asked him to look after us as if we were his own children. It was something we accepted without much thought, and something I will always accept.

Lucky I have more memories of Isi. He truly was my second father and I only wish Franz could meet him too. They would get along, most likely, travelling all the way from Europe.

I think I now accept I cannot remember a thing about Sweden.

28th October, 1952

My own dearest friend,

I feel there are many things I have never explained to you, things I felt I did not need to and things I did not want to speak of. Not right now. I have told no one for thirteen years and will do at some point, but I want to know I can trust you with such information. Do not speak of Kindertransport again until I am ready to explain, or do your own research for the time being and think of what you truly wish to ask.

Regardless, I agree with your wish to be less alone. I have had no one, really. Not in a good while.

Prying aside, I did enjoy your letter. I have not had post in a long time – even my foster family in England have moved on – but now I not only have a beautiful letter but something of you I can hold and keep with me! Thank you.

Yours faithfully,

Franz Edelstein

31st December, 1952

My diary,

I should invite Franz over. We always go to his apartment and he cooks for me and fusses over me so much. I love it but sometimes I feel bad that he does so much work. I mean, he has that job at the theatre and still makes time to care for me like we are married?

I will cook for him! I will make him something Swedish – he likes Swedish, so he was telling me. No, wait, I don't get paid for a few more days... cupboard leftovers it is, I'm afraid. Sorry, Franz.

I will make sure Peter is on his best behaviour too. Or, preferably, not home at all. Is there not someone he can go out drinking with? He certainly is going nowhere near the kitchen.

I wish I had somewhere more impressive to bring you, Franz. A one-room apartment… what to do? The tour would be rather a disappointment:

“So this is where I sleep, and I eat in that chair with the creaky leg, and that dark stain on the ceiling is from where my adoptive father blew his brains out.”

No! We will have a good time! I just have to believe in my abilities as an entertainer.

1st January, 1953

Dear diary,

So I burnt dinner.

Franz tried his best to spare my feelings and eat a lump of spam and chips that I blamed on Peter – yes of course he cooked and left just before you showed up, it is completely his fault that they burnt – but, soon enough, I could see your gourmet stomach was aching.

So we went out to a bar, not the same bar I’d convinced Peter to go it, no, one to more our… tastes. After getting something to eat, of course.

I hope Franz doesn’t think I’m here for his money, though it was lovely sitting in a top-class restaurant, with rich, expensive food and wine. I would love Franz if he wasn’t an actor. He could be homeless and I’d love him all the same. After all, he loves me though I sweep roads for a living.

We stayed at the bar until last year rolled into this, holding each other close and dancing like we were the last two people on earth. Honestly, the way things are headed, we could find wake up and find ourselves the last two people on earth, or that we’ve become nothing but dust and ash, so why not grab every opportunity to live our lives and go out with no regrets? I sang louder and danced harder and held Franz closer at the thought.

A strange way to go about life: both living for the moment and be damned with the consequences; and secrecy mixed with caution because as much as I want to say to hell with everything, there is still a chance of life ahead and I don’t want that life to be spent in prison.

Or, more importantly, I couldn’t bear to see Franz in prison.

Why am I talking about this? I’m here to talk about the best night of my life!

When Franz and I eventually stumbled into the street, it was still night. Morning couldn’t have been far off though and things had an otherworldly magic to them. Or maybe I was too tired and plonked to see properly, but a drunk artist is still an artist, after all. Few cars were about, even as we walked along Broadway, holding each other up and laughing and at some point we danced. Stupid, lively dancing. No music, but no matter.

Lucky for us, Franz’s hair is so long, and he’s so small compared to me. That mess of blond was tied into a ponytail, swishing everywhere and whacking me in the face as he spun. His coat ballooned like a pleated skirt, and he took his hand in mine, leading me in a waltz.

Neon lights overhead were our spotlights, the distant rumbling of cars our cheering audience. He even climbed a lamppost as he sang singing in the rain.

He kissed me before we parted at the end of the night. He caressed my face before disappearing with a wink, wishing myself and the city a good night.

When I got home, I may have cried.

24th May, 1953

Meine Liebe,

I shall give you this letter personally and you in turn will promise to keep it safe and hidden. Written word removes the risk of unwanted ears hearing what I have to say, but creates cold, hard proof that I love you. There, a man condemned. I love you, Lars Birghir Oxenstjärna. What of it, world?

I would ask you to destroy this letter after reading, but I suspect you would like to keep it. After all, I worked hard on making it aesthetically pleasing. Cherish this, but hide it.

Keep it next to your heart, next to me.

You’ve changed my life, you know? You’ve filled it to the top and made it better than I could ever hope for. The colour you brought into this world saved my artist lungs and soul, and it's is starting to push back the tide of grey. It's no longer everywhere I see. I can love the twinkles of light all around me, like I'm walking in a fairy wonderland. I now notice the headlamps of cars that dance across puddles in the road. There is magic in this city and in you, please remember that.

I believe we will last forever, that the love of an artist can never be killed, not truly. We may not see it now, but our relationship will leave its mark on the world.

Until we meet again tomorrow and I can tell you all this in person,

Your dear Franz xx

1st August, 1953

Dear diary,

Franz is the best thing to ever happen to me.

Yes, everything about our relationship must remain a secret, but I’m still so happy to have this gentle, loving man in my life, to caress and hold and swear to protect. We have pockets of moments, between work and trying to sell my paintings. We have nights and whispers and kisses and he tells me he doesn't mind quiet, secret. He hates being exposed, out in the open with everyone knowing everything, like they could use it against him. He is a whirlwind too, but he has his limits.

Franz does look after me, maybe a little too much – I am supposed to be a grown man – but I have promised that nothing bad will happen to him either, not if I can help it. Something tells me he just needs a break in life.

I love his hair so much. It's a wave of ice but the softest things. And his eyes! They look like little jewels and he has a mole on his cheek that is so cute. Anywhere I put my hands is soft, smooth, perfect. Every smile he gives is so genuine I cannot believe I can make a human look at me in such a way! He is an expressive man, must be to work on stage, but every emotion he rides, even the ones he would rather avoid.

Sometimes, at night when he is awake and I'm almost asleep, he looks like he will cry.

I still don’t know much of his past. I don’t know about the kindertransport or the Shoah or any of those words he hesitates in telling me, hesitates more before saying now isn't the time. I understand, I think.

Something evil happened.

I asked Peter, but he knows nothing. Typical. He told me to go to the library, and I suppose, if I have no other option, then I could see what a few hours reading can tell me.

I’ve heard to talk about the Shoah a lot, now that I think of it, not with me, but with older people, other immigrants with haunted looks and old scars. Franz doesn't share the look, but rather one of loss, fear. It ages him before me, and I want to know what was taken from him. If I cannot get it back, I could avenge Franz, right?

I need to know. I have to know what hurt him! I have to be able to protect him properly so he doesn't become like those other people. Is that a possibility?

That’s it! I should ask them instead! Then I will know what to say to Franz, and how to talk to him without causing him to, well, clam up. Maybe I can help?

2nd August, 1953

I understand now. Oh God, I understand now.

[justforbooks]

I’ve been trying to remember, was it The Sorrow And The Pity they were lining up for when, sick to death of the medium-is-the-message windbaggery of the pseudo-intellectual – now there’s a term to blast me back – in front of him, Alvy actually produces Marshall McLuhan from behind a lobby card? The association strikes me as a natural one, since I’m about to gather with the other acolytes in an art house cinema. Will anyone in the queue reference or be moved to imitate the McLuhan moment, I wonder?

And where were they? Was it at the Regency at 68th street? (Was it even called the Regency? It hardly matters, since it’s gone now, like the New Yorker at 88th, the movie house at 72nd and Broadway, the Thalia {{which does show up at the very end of the movie, when he runs into Annie after they’ve stopped dating and introduces her to a young, young Sigourney Weaver, fresh out of Yale}}, the Metro, the Bleecker and, of course, Theater 80. With all the rep houses having ceded their real estate to condos and their authority to Netflix, who is curating the tastes of the city’s undergraduates? How will they even know about The Sorrow And The Pity? Mondo Cane? How can the budding homosexual flower without the occasional force-feeding of a double feature of Now Voyager and All About Eve? To wit – and to extend this parenthetical yet further: in senior year, at the last meeting of our Japanese literature seminar before Spring break, the professor – ageing, erudite, one of the few, perhaps only, Western recipients of countless Japanese cultural laurels – asked us our plans for the coming week. I allowed as how I would be staying in town in order to write my thesis. ‘Well then, of course you’ll be going to the Bette Davis festival every day down at the Embassy.’ He said it as if stating an obvious prescription, like recommending medical attention for a sucking chest wound, or ‘You’ll want to call the fire department about those flames licking up the front of your house.’ Only a self-destructive lunatic would think he could survive the week by missing the Bette Davis festival. I took his advice and went every day. Did it help my thesis any? Hard to say. It was a long time ago.)

The time when a Woody Allen retrospective would have evoked that kind of fierce cinéaste devotion seems long gone, having been tempered out of us not just by the years (such performative loyalty is really the province of the youngsters who nightly go to Irving Plaza right near my apartment, passing the hours sitting on the pavement singing the songs of the artists they are about to see), but by Woody Allen himself. The tsunami of mediocrities like Hollywood Ending and Melinda And Melinda effectively obliterates why Manhattan mattered so much. I can’t help feeling like he’s dismantled the very admirable legacy of his earlier work by his later, overly prolific efforts. It’s a more benign version of Ralph Nader (with the key difference that I hate Ralph Nader, whereas Woody Allen simply makes me a little bit sad).

Then again, no one worth a damn doesn’t make the occasional bit of bad work: there are episodes of The Judy Garland Show that are absolute train wrecks of creaky squareness, made all the more ghoulish by the presence of an aphasic gin-soaked Peter Lawford, and I take a back seat to no one in my love for Judy Garland, the most talented individual who ever lived (ladies and gentlemen, my Kinsey placement); I read a lousy late Edith Wharton novel this summer, The Children, that was a tone-deaf, treacly muddle; I don’t care for Balanchine’s Scherzo à la Russe and I’ve said it before, even though it is considered a cinematically signal moment by the Cahiers du Cinema crowd (zzzzzzz), I’m no great fan of the movie Kiss Me Deadly.

Perhaps taken as a whole, the twenty-eight films will start to exert their own internal logic and I will see and delight in how Allen mines his themes over and over again. Or perhaps it will be like the Broadway show Fosse, where a surfeit of the choreographer’s vocabulary made all of it suffer and the entire thing looked like the kind of shitty entertainment that takes place on a raised, round, carpeted platform at a car show. I’ll see, I guess.

As one might expect for the 1:30 p.m. showing on the Friday before Christmas, there are only about a dozen of us waiting. Our ranks swell to about thirty people closer to show time, but at first it’s just me and more than a few men of a certain age (whose ranks I join with ever greater legitimacy each day), about whom it might be reasonably assumed that we spend an inordinate amount of time fixating on when next we might need to pee. Thoughts of age stay at the forefront in the first few minutes of the film, when Woody Allen himself (who, it must be said, in later scenes, stripped down to boxers, kind of had a rocking little body in his day) addresses the camera directly and tells us that he just turned forty. I’m older than that by two years.

How many times have I seen this, I wonder? Unquantifiable. The film is canonical and familiar and memorized, almost to the point of ritual. Perhaps this is the spiritual solace the faithful find in the formulaic rhythms of liturgy. It’s as comforting as stepping into a warm bath. Diane Keaton is enchanting, there is no other word for it. She comes on the screen and you can hear the slightest creaking in the audience as corners of mouths turn up. There is Christopher Walken, a peach-fuzzed stripling. And there, doe-eyed, with drum-tight skin: Carol Kane playing Alvy’s first wife, Allison Portchnik.

Allison Portchnik. Oy. I am generally known as an unfailingly appropriate fellow. I have very good manners. But when I fuck up, I fuck up big time. Suddenly I am reminded of how, three years ago, I was on a story for an adventure magazine, an environmental consciousness-raising whitewater-rafting expedition in Chilean Patagonia (about which the less said the better. It’s really scary. Others may call it exhilarating, and I suppose it is, the way having a bone marrow test finally over and done with is exhilarating. And Patagonia, Chilean Patagonia at least, while pretty, isn’t one tenth as breathtaking as British Columbia). On the trip with me were Bobby Kennedy, Jr., hotelier André Balazs and Glenn Close, among others. Everyone was very nice, I hasten to add.

After lunch one day, my friend Chris, the photographer on the story, came up to me and said, ‘I’d lay off the Kennedy assassination jokes if I were you.’

I laughed, but Chris reiterated, not joking this time. ‘No, I’d really lay off the Kennedy assassination jokes. The lunch line . . .’ he reminded me.

And then I remembered. I had been dreading this trip (see above about how totally justified I was in my trepidation) for weeks beforehand, terrified by the off-the-grid distance of this Chilean river, a full three days of travel away; terrified of the rapids and their aqueous meatgrinder properties; terrified of just being out of New York. All of this terror I took and disguised as an affronted sense of moral outrage, that such trips were frivolous, given the terrible global situation. I explained it to Glenn Close thusly:

‘I was using the war in Iraq to try and avoid coming down here,’ suddenly, unthinkingly invoking the part of Annie Hall where Alvy breaks off from kissing Allison because he’s distracted by niggling doubts: if the motorcade was driving past the Texas Book Depository, how could Oswald, a poor marksman, have made his shot? Surely there was a conspiracy afoot. Then, with Bobby Kennedy, Jr. helping himself to three-bean salad on the lunch line not five feet away, I switched into my Carol Kane as Allison Portchnik voice and said, ‘You’re using the Kennedy Assassination as an excuse to avoid having sex with me.’ Then I followed that up with my Woody Allen imitation and finished out the scene. Nice. No one pointed out my gaffe or was anything other than gracious and delightful.

Despite how well I know the material, the film feels so fresh. All the observations and jokes feel like they’re being made for the first time, or are at least in their infancy. By later films they will feel hackneyed (in the movie Funny Girl, the process of calcification is even more accelerated. You get back from intermission and Barbra Streisand already feels like too big a star, a drag version of herself ), but here it’s all just terrifically entertaining. And current! Alvy tells his friend Max that he feels that the rest of the country turning its back on the city – It’s the mid-70s. Gerald Ford to New York: Drop Dead, and all that jazz – is anti-Semitic in nature. That we are seen as left-wing, Communist, Jewish, homosexual pornographers. And so we remain, at least in the eyes of Washington and elsewhere, a pervy bastion of surrender monkeys. There was an Onion headline that ran after a sufficient interval of time had passed post-9/11, that essentially read, ‘Rest of country’s temporary love affair with New York officially over.’

Rest of the country’s perhaps, but mine was just beginning when I saw the film at age eleven. By the time the voiceover gets to the coda about how we throw ourselves over and over again into love affairs despite their almost inevitable disappointments and heartbreak because, like the joke says, ‘we need the eggs,’ (if you need the set-up to the punchline, what on earth are you doing reading this?) I am weepy with love for the city. Although, truth be told, it doesn’t take much to get my New York waterworks going.

Walking out, my friend Rick, thirtyplus years resident said, ‘I had forgotten how Jewish a film it is.’ I really hadn’t noticed. But I’m the wrong guy to ask. It’s like saying to a fish, ‘Do things around here seem really wet to you?’ I wrote a book that got translated into German a few years back. There was a fascination among the Germans with what they perceived as my Jewish sensibility; a living example of the extirpated culture. I’ve said this before, but I felt like the walking illustration of that old joke about the suburbs being the place where they chop down all the trees and then name the streets after them. At least a dozen of the reviews referred to me as a ‘stadtneurotiker’, an urban neurotic, a designation that pleased me, I won’t lie. Especially when I found out the German title for Annie Hall.

Der Stadtneurotiker.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[four-loose-screws]

Lucina x Inigo B Support Translation

[ルキナ]

また…屍兵が町を襲っていました… このままじゃ、この時代も……▼

Lucina: The Risen have attacked a town… again… if things stay like this, then this timeline will also……

[アズール]

あれ、ルキナ？ 相変わらず厳しい顔してるね。▼

Inigo: What’s up, Lucina? You have a serious face, as always.

[ルキナ]

あっ…アズール。▼

Lucina: Oh… Inigo.

[アズール]

笑顔の練習はもう忘れちゃったの？▼

Inigo: Have you already forgotten about smiling practice?

[ルキナ]

…忘れた訳じゃありませんけど、 今はそんな気分になれなくて…▼

Lucina: It’s not that I haven’t forgotten, but… I don’t feel like doing it today…

[アズール]

そっか…でも、あんまり 思いつめるとよくないよ？▼ こういう時こそ笑顔笑顔！ 笑っといたら楽しい気分になるからさ！▼

Inigo: I see… but it’s not good to think about it too much! At a time like this, smile, just smile! Because when you laugh, you will be filled with good feelings!

[ルキナ]

アズールはそう言いますけど…▼ たとえば戦闘時にも 笑顔で戦えと言うつもりですか？▼ それ以外にも軍議の時などは 真剣に取り組むべきですし、▼ とても笑っていられるような場合では ない事だってありますよ…▼

Lucina: You say that, Inigo, but… for example, are you going to tell me to fight on the battlefield with a smile on my face? And beyond that, what about war meetings, where I’m supposed to act seriously? These are not situations where a person should smile!

[アズール]

ま、まぁそうなんだけどさ…▼ よし！じゃあルキナには 実力行使しかないみたいだね！▼

Inigo: W-Well, you have a point there, but… Okay! Well then, it looks like nothing will work on you but force!

[ルキナ]

ちょっと…私の脇に手を伸ばして 何をする気ですか？▼

Lucina: Wait a minute… why are you reaching for my armpits?

[アズール]

こちょこちょ…▼

Inigo: Tickle tickle…

[ルキナ]

あ、あはははははっ！！▼ …ちょっとアズール！ 何をするんですか！！▼

Lucina: Ah-Ah ha ha ha ha ha!! …Wait, Inigo! What are you doing!?

[アズール]

どう？　楽しい気分になった？▼

Inigo: So? Are you having fun?

[ルキナ]

なるわけないでしょう！▼ …もうこの際、正直に言いますけど… 邪魔なので向こうに行ってもらえますか？▼ 私、いまそんな気分じゃないんです！▼

Lucina: Not really! …This time, I’ll speak frankly… You’re being a pain, so could you go somewhere else? I’m not in that kind of mood right now!

[アズール]

…それは離れた場所からルキナを 笑わせてみろ、ってことかな▼？

Inigo: …So you’re suggesting that I try making you laugh from afar?

[ルキナ]

そんなことは言ってません！ もう黙っていて下さい…！▼

Lucina: That’s not it at all! Please, just shut up already!

[アズール]

………▼

Inigo: ………

[ルキナ]

はぁ…▼

Lucina: Haaa…

[アズール]

………▼

Inigo: ………

[ルキナ]

…って、アズール、さっきからどうして 変な動作を繰り返しているのですか？▼ 妙な踊りをしてみせたり、 小道具を用意して動いたり！▼

Lucina: …Um, Inigo, why have you been repeating these weird movements over and over again? Are you showing me a new dance? Or are you moving and laying out some props?

[アズール]

これはサイレントと言って、無言で 聴衆を笑わせる演技の一つだよ。▼ この前母さんから教えてもらったんだ。 なかなか愉快な動きだろ？▼

Inigo: This is called “miming,” a type of performance where you make the audience laugh without speaking! Mother taught it to me a little while ago. It’s a pretty funny act, isn’t it?

[ルキナ]

私が言っていたのは黙って 笑わせろという意味ではありません！▼

Lucina: When I said what I said, I didn’t mean that I wanted you to make me laugh by being quiet!

[アズール]

でも、笑顔の練習を…▼

Inigo: But what about smiling practice…?

[ルキナ]

…もういいです！▼ 私はアズールみたいに 能天気じゃありませんから、▼ 今はそんな風に笑っていられる 余裕なんてありません！▼ ましてや笑顔の練習なんか、 する気ありませんから！▼

Lucina: …I can’t take this anymore! I’m not carefree like you, I don’t have it in me right now to laugh like that! Much less feel like doing something like smile practice!

[アズール]

…………そっか。▼ 無理強いしちゃって、ごめんね。 じゃあ僕、もう戻るから…！▼

Inigo: …………I see. I’m sorry I put so much pressure on you. Well then, I’ll be off already!

[ルキナ]

…ふぅ。これくらい言わないと、 わかってもらえませんからね。▼ とはいえ… 少し言い過ぎたかもしれませんけど…▼

Lucina: …*Sigh.* If I hadn’t said as much as I did, he never would have gotten it. But still… I might have said a bit too much…

Localization:

Lucina: Another village wiped out by the Risen. Another step toward a dark future...

Inigo: Tsk tsk tsk. Such a grim countenance...

Lucina: Oh, it's you.

Inigo: Looks like someone forgot her daily smiling practice!

Lucina: Now is hardly the time!

Inigo: Now is PRECISELY the time! In dark times like this, you just have to keep grinning until you feel happy.

Lucina: A village was butchered, Inigo! Men and women, slaughtered! Would you have me charge into battle with a grin on my face? Giggle my way through war meetings?! Laugh as my steel pierces flesh?! There are times when a person has no business smiling!

Inigo: Gods, but you ARE grave... All right, then. It looks like drastic measures are in order.

Lucina: Wh-what are you... Get your hands away from—

Inigo: Tickle tickle tickle!

Lucina: S-stop that! Stop...AH HA HA! I-Inig... AH HA HA HA! Stop! Stop! Stop that this instant! Stop before I cut off your hands!

Inigo: Well? Feel any happier?

Lucina: I feel annoyed! I told you, I'm not in the mood for such folly. Now leave me be.

Inigo: Hm, so tickling is off limits, then? Perhaps it's time for a little...

Lucina: NO! Do not attempt anything! Do not even speak! JUST! BE! QUIET!

Inigo: ......

Lucina: ...Thank you.

Inigo: ......

Lucina: Inigo, what are you... What is that...some kind of strange new dance? ...What is wrong with your face? Are you in pain...?

Inigo: Ha ha! I'm fine, Lucina. It's called miming! That was my "man trapped in a box." Entertaining, no? And entirely silent! Mother taught me that one. She said she uses it quite often.

Lucina: That isn't what I meant when I told you to be quiet!

Inigo: Well how else am I supposed to help you practice?

Lucina: ENOUGH, Inigo! What must I do to convince you to leave me in peace? Unlike you, my head is not filled with rainbows and sunshine. I carry sense enough to realize the dire straits we find ourselves in. I have no desire to smile right now, and even less to fake one! If you're too dense to understand that, I don't know how to help you!

Inigo: ...All right, Lucina, all right. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... ...I'll see you later.

(Inigo leaves)

Lucina: ...... Blast. I shouldn't have lost my temper. I know he meant well...

[dreamscript]

Spiders

There’s a spider in the room.

You’re scared, Minhyuk’s terrified, and Hyunwoo’s tired.

“You know, I’m starting to think that the only reason you guys are friends with me is so that I can kill the spiders.”

fill for this request

3.2k words, comedy, minhyuk + reader + hyunwoo, college au

Hyunwoo is dreaming. 

He prances about in a sparkling, sunshine-filled world, with all-you-can-eat buffets prepared by top-notch chefs, expansive gyms, nicely toned arms, screaming marmot noises, comf--

Wait.

He pauses in his enjoyment of the dreamworld and listens intently to the harsh, guttural, grating sounds. Screaming marmot noises.

No, no. The noises--oh. That’s his phone.

Letting out a groan, he reaches over for the obnoxiously screaming device. He curses himself for forgetting to turn his ringer off, and then curses Minhyuk for setting his default ringtone to screaming marmots. He’d forgotten to never trust the kid with his phone.

Hyunwoo doesn’t even bother looking at the caller ID--whoever it is, whatever the hell they want, none of it matters. The only thing that really counts, he has decided, is his much-needed sleep. He’s got an 8 AM class tomorrow that he’s been dreading, but he’s gotta go because he’s already behind as is. And everyone knows that if you’re behind, you are behind. He’s still trying, though. Especially since he’s already paying thousands to attend the university, and he’d be damned if he failed one of his core classes.

“What.” His voice comes out as a deep, menacing rumble. The person’s got precisely 0.3 seconds to answer before he--

“HYUNWOO!”

He instinctively flinches. Faintly, he feels--hears?--his ears ringing. Hyunwoo doesn’t even need to think to know the person is Minhyuk, who seems more than ready to die a painful, torturous death. Tomorrow. After he goes back to sleep. And goes to class.

“The fuck you want?” he hisses into the receiver. Out of the corner of his eye, he notes that it is currently 3:17 A.M. Fucking fantastic.

“YOU HAVE TO CO--AH!” There’s static as Minhyuk yelps and loses hold of the phone, letting it slip from his grasp and fall--somewhere. Hyunwoo grunts and feels his eyelids fluttering shut, finger moving to jab satisfactorily at the red “end call” button--

“SHIT--H-Hyunwoo!” His eyes immediately widen upon hearing your voice. “Y-You gotta get here right now!” In the background, he can hear another strangled cry from Minhyuk. You curse under your breath. More static.

“What’s wrong? Where are you?” Hyunwoo immediately sits up in his bed, eyes frantically darting around the darkened room, attempting to locate his clothes, his shoes, maybe a can of pepper spray...

“Wow, okay, I see how it is!” Minhyuk’s whining, slightly panicked voice comes back. “You curse me out when I call you, but as soon as ________ takes over the phone, you immediately start paying attention!”

Okay, so Minhyuk’s got a point there. But that’s only because Hyunwoo’s so used to his panicked voice that he’s become completely desensitized, whereas with you...he doesn’t really hear you in such a state of panic very often. Only on certain occasions…Wait.

“What’s. The. Problem.” Hyunwoo grits his teeth. He swears to god that if this is yet another substance-induced incident, or a horrendous prank of sorts, he is going to fucking kill--

“We’re in Minhyuk’s room right now! And, uh,” you let out a loud squeal. “There’s--” Hyunwoo snarls in annoyance, irritated when the answer he’s been waiting so impatiently for is obfuscated by loud static.

“There’s a fucking what?”

“There’s a spider!”

Hyunwoo sighs and flops back down on his bed. Ah yes, of course. He should know this by now: of the few times he’s heard you so panicked, once (and the most recent) was a prank. All the other four times were about spiders and other related miniature-sized threats (whereas for Minhyuk, his calls tend to be a hysterical mixture of both, with great frequency).

Sometimes, he wonders why he even bothers. Seriously, it’s two against one. Against a small, measly spider. You’ve all been through so many more life threatening situations, and yet, it’s always the damned arachnid that--

“Hyunwoo? Hello?” Your voice breaks through his thoughts, now with an edge of hysteria.

--sends you two into a practical fit of hysteria. He hears you call for him again, and in the background comes Minhyuk’s famed shriek of terror. And then your loud cursing and screaming. He can already imagine the scene in his head, in which--

“HYUNWOO! HELLO? ARE YOU--SHIT GODFUCK MINHYUK IT’S COMING--”

--Minhyuk is clutching his pillow with sheer desperation, almost as if begging the cushion to vanquish the eight-legged threat in his room, while you curse and screech in fear, movements frantic and jerky as you attempt to meld into the wall, or some other surface.

Ah yes. He grins, almost sadistically. He sees it perfectly now, an entertaining display of sheer terror over a spider. A common, probably non-venomous creature, just trying to live its simple life... He’s pretty sure you two will be fine. In fact, maybe just this once he won’t cater to your needs; the both of you have to learn to survive without him, after all.

He closes his eyes and wishes for the sweet embrace of slumber...

“HYUNWOO!”

...or maybe not. Your desperate yell jerks him back, and he feels that annoying voice tugging at the back of his mind, that thing he so-calls his moral conscience.

Would he be okay leaving his friends alone in a room with their greatest fear?

Probably.

He hears more cursing and then some straight up begging. He’s pretty sure that in a few more seconds, tears would be involved as well.

Okay, so maybe not so much. Damn himself and his morals. He grunts and sits back up on his bed, now sufficiently woken up.

“HYUN--”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there ASAP. Hang tight, don’t die, and if it comes down to it, sacrifice Minhyuk and make a mad dash for it when the enemy is distrac--”

“Hey! I heard that--”

Hyunwoo chuckles as he slips on his shoes, pausing for a moment to get Minhyuk’s room key from its spot next to yours. The keys had been given to him after one too many incidents--or “near death experiences,” as Minhyuk calls them--in which he’d arrived to exterminate a spider (or some other unfortunate pest), only to find the door locked and the petrified victim cowering in some far end of the room, unable to move to open the door.

“--fight me you hunky ass muscle brain--”

Hyunwoo smoothly ends the call and steps out of his room, breaking into a jog.

//

“Okay, Minhyuk, he’s coming, so until he arrives, we’ll just have to barricade ourselves and keep an eye on the threat. Minhyuk?” You look over at the slightly-dazed, still-fuming boy next to you. You elbow him and he yelps.

“Yeah?”

“Eyes on the target.”

“Right--shit, yeah.”

You turn back to fix your gaze back on the current issue at hand: the brown, miniscule, skittering dot that threatens your very existence. Minhyuk tenses beside you as it wanders aimlessly in his room, nearing the bed. The silent standoff between the both of you and the spider continues until the arachnid suddenly seems to find a direction and purpose.

It turns towards the bed.

And it leaps in that very direction with an alarmingly fast pace.

You let out a shriek--or is it Minhyuk?--as you watch it come closer and closer, almost seeing it hiss between its tiny little fangs--

Bam.

Like a super hero from a kid’s comic, Hyunwoo bursts into the room just as the spider closes the distance and very nearly gets a double kill.

With one fell swoop, he kills the spider, reaching over to pinch its body into a tissue. You exhale, letting go of the breath you’d been holding, as Hyunwoo disappears into the bathroom to flush the body down the toilet.

“Th-Thanks,” you call after him. Minhyuk makes a noise in agreement. You hear the toilet flush, the sink go off. Then silence. Hyunwoo pads out.

“You know,” he says, “I’m starting to think that the only reason you guys are friends with me is so that I can kill the spiders.”

“Oh come on,” Minhyuk protests. “We invite you to hangouts and places that are spider-free too!”

You slap his shoulder and Hyunwoo laughs.

“Anyways, before I go, what are you guys doing up this late? On a weekday?”

“Studying,” you reply. Minhyuk grumbles.

“Last-minute cramming,” you amend. Hyunwoo looks skeptical. Minhyuk looks guilty.

“Okay, fine, watching Stranger Things. Happy?”

“Quite, actually. It’s a good show,” Hyunwoo says. And then he leaves, though not without running into the door. Twice. You wince and feel vaguely bad for forcing him out here. It’s still 3 AM, after all.

//

“Happy now?” you ask over your styrofoam cup.

“Hardly,” Hyunwoo replies smoothly. “But I really wasn’t expecting much. Free coffee is still free coffee. And I’m too tired and depressed to care as much about quality.”

“So I take it you’re failing that class pretty badly?” Minhyuk asks casually. Hyunwoo makes a grim expression and nods. He then looks down at the black liquid in his own styrofoam cup. All he sees is his own tired, deadbeat reflection, though slightly distorted and at a terrible angle. He grimaces and picks it up, throwing it down his throat all the same. Maybe the caffeine will give him a heart-attack, or something, and he’ll finally feel the sweet release of death.

Ahem.

Anyways.

Joking suicidal thoughts aside, there is currently yet another cup of relatively disgusting, hot coffee being waved directly in front of his face in a dangerously haphazard manner. As much as he contemplates the void, he’d really rather not have it end now, and especially not with a cup of cheap cafeteria coffee to the face.

(On second thought, that probably wouldn’t be enough to kill him. Maybe blind him, permanently disfigure him. The point still stands, though. He refuses to lose to coffee.)

“Hyunwoo? Hello?” You continue to wave your coffee in front of his face.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” Before you can accidentally spill the thing into his eyes, he gently pushes your hand away. You set the cup down on the table.

“Sorry. But yeah, thanks for helping us out a few days ago. At 3 AM. And sorry for interrupting your much-needed sleep. You’ll pull through in your class. I think.” You give him a reassuring smile that really isn’t that reassuring. He smiles back because he’s going to fail and knows that everyone knows he will.

He clears his throat, setting the now-empty cup back onto the table. “Anyways, in regards to that spider incident, I have something to tell you guys.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to be out for the weekend, so if you guys have any incidents…”

“Oh.” You turn to look at Minhyuk. He stares back at you. Hyunwoo wonders if you guys somehow have telepathic abilities. He actually wouldn’t be very surprised at all, really. In fact, he’s actually kind of jealous. They’d be nice, especially if he’s in a pinch and needs help from a friend on a test for a certain class…

“So, uh, where are you going to be?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, funeral,” Hyunwoo replies. “But I was going to say, if you guys are worried about more spiders appearing--especially with the weather getting warmer and all--I could actually stay back.”

“Why?” Minhyuk looks both alarmed and relieved. “Wait, what? I mean, I know that we’re best friends and everything but this is a funeral--”

“For my uncle,” Hyunwoo interrupts. “Racist misogynist extraordinaire. Or so I’ve heard. Never really met him, though if what my mother tells me about him is true, I can understand why. He also had some sort of cerebral injury later in his life and let’s just say...his already pretty loose filter became very much nonexistent.”

“Ah,” you say, relaxing back into your seat. “Well in that case I don’t feel all that bad about asking you to stay.”

“Neither do I,” Hyunwoo replies. “Honestly, my family is only going to collect some old items of ours that somehow wound up in his possession.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, I think you should still go.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” Minhyuk says. “Go and get your stuff, man. What if someone steals what’s rightfully yours because you aren’t there?”

“I mean…”

“If you really want to stay, then stay. I mean, I still feel kind of bad for asking you to stay. Plus, I don’t think there will be that many spiders...hopefully,” you add on.

Hyunwoo studies the two of you carefully. Maybe he should go. He’d heard that there was apparently some painting there that belonged to his father, and he’d been meaning to see it.

“Um, okay then.”

//

The first day without Hyunwoo...is just like any other day, except without the reassurance, at the back of your mind, that if any sort of eight-legged threat were to appear, he would also appear to save you.

But it’s okay, because on most days you don’t need to rely on him for such things. You and Minhyuk pass it by as normal, binge-watching more shows and getting started on Black Mirror. The episode ends, fading into the usual “next episode” screen on Netflix.

You stretch, letting out a satisfied groan escape your mouth. “‘Mkinda thirsty,” you mumble. Minhyuk grunts. Turning your head about, you look around for your mug; you’re pretty sure you left it somewhere nearby…

There it is. You spot it sitting on your desk, a few feet away from where you and Minhyuk are currently squished on the bed (seriously--you should get a couch). Except...you’re quick to spot something else next to it, too.

Something small.

And tiny.

With many appendages.

“M-M-Minhyuk,” you start, slapping him on the shoulder multiple times.

“Hm?” He sounds half-asleep.

The thing twitches. And moves. Shit. “Th-There’s a s-spider.”

Almost immediately, Minhyuk tenses. He shifts on the bed. “W-Where?”

With a shaking finger, you point at the dot of brown on the other side of the room, skittering about without a clear sense of aim or direction on the desk.

He makes a terrified squeaking noise, hands desperately grabbing at you before he manages to lock you in a death embrace. You hug him back just as desperately, fearing for you damned life.

As it inches towards your direction and nears the bed closer and closer, you can’t help but think one thing:

“Maybe,” you whisper, terrified, “we should’ve told Hyunwoo to stay...”

“I-I think that’d be nice and all but...we’ll hopefully be fine without him...” Slowly, he unravels his arms.

“But he’s literally the only one who can face those--those things!”

“No. No, he’s not.”

“Wh--” It’s then that you notice that Minhyuk’s rolled up an old magazine of yours, clutching it tightly in his sweaty hand. “Wait, are you really…?”

He nods. You’re unsure about what to feel: on one hand, you’re filled with desperate hope, praying to the deities that Minhyuk will be successful in his dangerous mission and exterminates the threat--but on the other hand, the very threat is the bane of both of your existences.

With what seems to be incredible courage, Minhyuk unfolds his trembling legs, letting his feet make cold contact with the ground. You inhale sharply as he cautiously inches towards the spider, which skitters precariously towards the edge of the desk.

One step.

Minhyuk seems too big for the room, all of a sudden. With just one, fear-filled step, he’s already covered a third of the distance between him and the desk. That has the spider.

Two steps.

He’s taken two steps from the bed, the sanctuary, the haven of safety, venturing deeper into enemy territory. Bravely, he raises his glossy paper weapon.

“Minhyuk…”

Three steps.

His strides may have gotten smaller, but he’s still close, much too close. If the spider could jump--can they jump?--it would easily land on his forearm, and from there sink its tiny little (most likely) venomous fangs into the flesh, pierce his fair, perfect, flawless and pure skin, and stare up at his crumbling, dying form with all eight of its beady little eyes--

There’s a loud thwack and you suddenly jolt, eyes widening with fear as you expect to see his dead body on the ground--

“Y-You’re alive.”

Minhyuk stands panting before your desk, hand firmly pressing the magazine to the desk.

“Y-Yeah.” He says it as if he’s surprised he’s alive too.

Carefully, Minhyuk lifts up the magazine, inspecting it carefully. You can’t see the look on his face, but he makes a satisfied noise.

“I--I killed it.” He turns to look at you now, and his face is the epitome of elation. “I-I did it. I killed the spider--” Minhyuk continues to babble happily as you straighten up on the bed and beam widely at him.

“Really? Are you sure it’s dead? Rip off the page of the mag that it’s smashed on--yeah. Careful--yeah, okay, go and flush that down the toilet. I don’t care if it clogs, because I am not taking any risks--”

He jibbers excitedly as he prances out of the room.

//

“Man, so is this how Hyunwoo feels whenever he kills a spider?” Minhyuk asks dreamily. “It feels so great. No wonder he does it for us so often.”

You nod in agreement. “That explains why he was so reluctant to leave us alone.” You look at him, leaning against your now spider-free desk. “Where’d you get all that courage from, anyway?”

He shrugs and attempts to act casual and “oh-so-manly” about it. “Geh, who knows. Probably was just some fight-or-flight instinct, but I chose fight.”

“Right, okay,” you giggle. He grins at you, still perched on the bed, half-covered in sheets. He’s feeling a bit too awkward to admit it just yet, but it was also in part because there was this sudden, surging notion to protect you. And himself. And the rest of humanity, probably, from the accursed spider.

“Wow, I feel so great, like I could lift entire buildings and--”

“Minhyuk?” He starts at the slightly panicked look on your face.

“Yeah?”

“There’s another one.” With a slightly trembling hand, you point at the ground to the left of him… And holyshityou’rerightshitshitshit--

There’s a loud squeak of protest as both you and Minhyuk immediately dive for the bed. He ends up crushing half of your body with his weight and you’re left wheezing and gasping for multiple reasons.

“H-HYUNWOO!”

//

In a large, relatively crowded room filled with people swathed in black, Hyunwoo sneezes.

Reaching for his handkerchief, he wipes his nose and glances around at those around him, people who seem oblivious to his sneeze. They continue to stare at the casket with mixed expressions of sadness, sorrow, joy, and satisfaction.

Everything about the funeral is plain, utterly plain. Not a single flower is in sight. Or pepper shaker. Or cat, or dog, or any kind of fur-shedding animal, for that matter.

He shrugs and does away with the handkerchief. Maybe someone was thinking of him.

a/n: i know, i know. i pick on poor minhyuk way too much. first its the werepotato incident, and now im making him suffer with spiders.

lol this fic is so random and strangely incomplete

inspired by a whole plethora of naruto fanfiction ive been reading tbh

additionally here is a yt link to screaming marmots.

[brightlotusmoon]

So, did I ever share this on Tumblr? I don’t think I did. It is very important. I especially turn to it when searching for alternate words to use as insults, it has a great list of words that can be strung together for good effect. You can Google for alternatives to ableist words too. It’s great for creative writers. Now: Do please keep in mind that many disabled people, myself included, use some of the words ableist list for ourselves, to reclaim, to speak our own truth about each other. Example: I am lame. I am also “lame” - I am crippled, weak in one leg, limping. I use the word all the time. I still equate it with weak, unbalanced unable to properly stand without assistance. Disabled people who are lame who do not like the word, will ask me to not say it in their presence, so I stop. It’s simple as that. There are friends on Facebook who won’t tolerate “stupid” or “idiot” even if others think they are only mildly ableist. I stop using the words when I’m on their posts. Because of this, I have very slowly and casually removed many ableist words from my vocabulary. I call myself crazy. I have several crazies. I am crippled, I am as spastic spazz, I am stupid, I am an idiot, I’m even “R*ded”. People who are abled can sling those words as insults at me forever. It hurts. Yes, it hurts, like a knife to the chest. Emotional pain gives way to physical pain; it’s already been proven. Being called those words is supposed to hurt. That’s the point. But they can’t say that words don’t hurt and then dismiss actual consequences, they seem to revel in watching activists react. But the phrase “words don’t have power unless you give them power” can’t work on words that have a living history of medical and social hurt, disempowerment, dehumanization, marginalization, oppression, humiliation, murder, abuse, torture, a hundred ways to die for our existence and our resistence. The words have power precisely because of all that living weight given to them by those in authority, those who oppressed, the entire system that worked for hundreds of years to push disabled people into the darkness, into forgotten rooms, out of society, out of the way of communal progress. Once the words are used, actions can follow, and that means real, true harm. And yes, many disabled activists have strong reactions, while others, like me, shrug it off, roll their eyes, and remind people that the words discriminate against disability. People don’t care though, you’ve noticed that. As long as they incite a reaction, they’re entertained. Believe me, I’ve seen it all my life. I have several friends and family members who love to poke at me and listen to my “please stop saying those words” speeches with smug grins and the ready defense that “oh, we don’t mean the disabled, we mean assholes and jerks who hurt people” which compounds it even further by saying that terrible people are equated with disabled people. They can defend their privilege of not being concerned by simply being not-disabled. They keep forgetting that the entire reason these words exist is because society needed to describe the disabled, and those descriptions turned into terms of abuse and torment. Are we advocates and activists sensitive and emotional? Yup. Are we allowing ourselves to be hurt? Well, it’s not like we choose to feel stabbed. I can attempt to “allow” myself to “not feel hurt” - except I do. And only people with very little to no empathy toward me will realize that I have such feelings and I cannot just shoo them away. Trust me, I’ve been trying. It’s hard. I want to be a robot most days. So, technically we let ourselves feel hurt the way someone who got stabbed is letting themselves feel their receptors react to “oh, shit, we got cut open, there is pain, release the various neurochemicals needed to fade pain and boost energy! We gotta start healing this wound, no time to waste!” followed by the body doing the remarkable things it do to heal. There will be scabbing, and fresh tender skin beneath, and the body will remember that pain, and then there will be scars, and the scars will remember. Yeah. Words hurt. Like broken bones. And sometimes, we can ignore the hurting, we can look you in the eye and tell you to fuck off, we can laugh at the phrasing and say how funny it is because yeah we actually are crazy. But the body will remember. The brain will remember. The sticks and stones break us in the mind, no matter what we express. And often, it isn’t the actual words that hurt. It is the ideas and concepts and histories behind the words. If a word you use as an insult refers to mental illnesses, intellectual disabilities, etc, it is ableist. As long as a word refers to disability and is used as an insult, it is hurtful. An important thing to remember is this: If you don’t think you can stop using ableist words, that’s okay, but just remember that they are ableist. It’s not like you can change the world, but you can change your attitude toward the words. If someone tells you, “Hey, that word is ableist, could you please not use it while talking to me?” It is far easier to agree and apologize. It isn’t like we’re making you wear a shock collar or lock box on your larynx. If someone says, “Just so you know, that word is considered ableist” you can say something like “Oh, okay, I didn’t realize” and maybe it’ll lead to a conversation. In the privacy of your head or in private among friends you know well, say whatever you wish. But being more aware of where the words come from and what they mean goes a long way to being kinder and compassionate...and empathetic. I know empathy can be a lost skill, and lack of empathy is a real thing. But all I ask is that we remember what words can mean and how they are used. Language is a fantastic, ever-changing brilliance of a thing, and we shouldn’t forget that there are always new exciting ways to say things.

[canvas-of-dreams]

The Hallowed Ground: Chapter One

'You going to give me the answer right now,' said the broad man whose expression was more like a gnarled tree than anything human. 'No one travels anywhere without permit. Where did you come from?' My wry grin only angered him more. Men like this don't know when to quit because they are too dumb to realise that they've been played.

'I told you, already.' With a dissatisfied grunt his crony threw a sharp punch at me that I dodged with ease.

'Come here!' the first man yelled, as I slid under their legs and sprinted out of the side street. Out into the crowd I ran, carefully weaving my way through the turbulence and clamour. Looking quickly over my shoulder I saw the soldiers, those men, barging people out of the way in pursuit of me. Grinning again, I upped the ante. This skill had taken me some time to acquire. Out of all my abilities this was the fluke, the one I'd learned by accident and had to figure to how to use it on command. Whenever anyone asked me how I'd mastered it, usually, my answer lead them to confusion, and I wanted to keep it that way.

Breathe. Breathe deeper. Look them in the eye. I turned to face them. Ten feet away.

'There she is!' The tree-faced man yelled. Five feet.

'Breathe,' I whispered as the crowd parted. A soldier lunged at me. The gasps of surprise were musical. Gone.

'Where did they go?! Find them for me, now!' Yelled tree-man. Little did he know I was stood behind him, smiling. Never gets old, I thought, as I wove back in the other direction.

Skirmishes like that were common, a monthly occurrence at least. I grabbed a roll of bread from the baker's cart and took a well-earned bite. He wouldn't miss the roll even if he'd seen me take it. Did I feel guilty anymore about stealing? Absolutely not. Not for survival anyway, especially in richer towns like this. Since I'd left the Society, I'd had to fend for myself, and getting a job when you are trying to remain hidden is difficult, especially when the Society has spies everywhere. This fact meant I lived out in the wilds alone when I could, and that was my exact destination.

Soldiers were posted on the town walls, stopping me in my tracks, their silver badges glinting in the morning sun. The rest of their armour was leather or iron, but that's not what they were known by. These were soldiers of the Silver Army, the nickname for the The Argyros Order, an empire that had conquered much of the known world. Adala was one of the last standing kingdoms... and now it had fallen to this hungry beast of conquest. The soldiers of the Order were well trained unlike the Adalans but getting past them was no challenge for me. I waited for a merchant to show her travel permit to a young soldier at the gates, and as her caravan of trinkets wheeled out into the countryside, I followed close behind. When I was out of sight of the road and in the thick forest up on the hills, I let down my façade.

'Freedom,' I sighed and finished the bread roll by the time I made it to my camp. I'd hidden all evidence of my existence from potentially patrolling soldiers under a large rock. I'd dug a hole beneath it so that I could slide it out the way and have access to my storage. My roll-mat, spare clothes, food and water pouch were all there, unmoved, in the exact placement I'd left them in. As far as I knew, I hadn't been found. It used to be easier to get around before the Silver Army took access to all of the roads. They wanted to count all citizens, to make sure anyone untrustworthy could by weeded out and stopped from inciting rebellion in more towns than one. A clever strategy, one that a dynastic empire had benefited from in the past. Due to my wandering status, I didn't have one of those handy and yet dangerous travel permits. The pros to one would be not having to sneak around and sleep in the rain. The cons would be losing my advantage, my ability to move and be unseen. I didn't particularly relish in being controlled, by anyone.

From out of the trees came a rustling. In the bushes behind me I sense movement. But I knew this game all to well. 'Talu?' The response I got was being pounced on from behind.

'Oof, Talu, bad girl, get off, off,' I said laughing. My mountain cat licked the back of my head with her sandpaper tongue, her purring like bottled thunder. I rolled over and looked at her big, blue eyes, stroking my hands through her fur. 'Let me up,' I said and slid out from under her playful gaze. You are no fun. I heard her thoughts and put my hands on my hips. 'We have to get moving, missy. Also, you are lucky you and I can disappear. For a mountain cat, you are terrible at ambushing.'

Good enough at ambushing to hunt. I'm not the one hiding like a coward.

'Oi. Rude,' but I knew there was no point taking offence with a cat. Cats never apologise. Calling me a coward was below the belt, but was she wrong? I gathered my things into my rucksack and packed that question away with them for another day, like every time the thought came up. Put it away for later, for when I'm ready.

Where are we going? Let me guess, a letter-hold?

'Yep. Want to see if Cassius cares whether I'm alive or not. It's spring, so I'm due the letter for the quarter.'

Four years. What a desperate human. She definitely wasn't wrong this time. The walk to the next letter-hold wasn't too far, a day at most. I checked my map to make sure I had my bearings and off we went. From time to time, Talu and I had to conceal ourselves from farmers or platoons of moving soldiers, always staying off main roads or roads at all if we could. The forest was the path we followed around the country. I never felt lonely and was never alone. That was one of the perks of understanding animals I suppose. Talu was the only one I could communicate with fluently. Some animals were only understandable to the extent that a foreign language is when someone points at an object and gives an action. Talu was the only creature I wanted to talk to anyways. Much more straightforward than humans, better at being a friend.

We were halfway to the destination just as the sun laid to rest on the horizon. Her golden rays kissed the canopy above us, and its light poured through in glimmering beams. 'We should eat. No cooking tonight. We are too close to the road.' Talu laid down to sleep. Travelling by day wasn't her favourite, and every time I stopped to rest, she'd doze off. Silly cat. As her breathing settled, I set up my camp. We would begin our journey again at the witching hour, when Talu was most alert and I most powerful. Laying down on my roll-mat, I read through the letters I'd seen too many times by now. It had been four years since I'd runaway. I was thirteen. In these letters were apology after apology, begging and pleas for my return. All from Cassius, the traitor. All of them betrayed me even Theo, my own brother. The Society did good to everyone but its own.

Here I lay, hating the sender of these missives, and yet, I was on the way to find another. Perhaps this was becoming some sort of tradition of mine. Checking to see how much they missed or didn't miss me, going to all the letter-holds in the dead of night when no one would know I'd come, placing an old letter in replacement so they'd never know I'd been. The latest letter had been entertaining.

Dear Tayn,

The winter festivals are underway and yes, I still wish you were here. You must think I'm an idiot by now, sending these letters to you.

'Oh, I do,' I said and carried on reading it, not for the first time.

I suppose it is like a ritual now. You'll think it morbid, but I feel like I'm talking to you as I place flowers on your gravestone.

'How dramatic, Cass. Bless, you always were. Not your fault of course.'

Do you remember how the amphitheatre looked in the winter? How it would be decorated in poinsettia, and the lanterns would glow orange on the columns. When we were kids and we'd weave in and out of them, and Isidore would tell us to stop running because 'the amphitheatre is a sacred place, you, mischiefs!' He wouldn't talk to me like that now. No. We are not children anymore. Tonight, the Society is putting on a play, as they always do. It's your favourite 'The Starred Goddess of Rene.' I have to go, even if I'd rather not. It's too much a reminder of that winter before.

The winter before. He hadn't forgotten, of course not, but something deep throbbed within me like a thorn lodged in my heart had been nudged further inwards.

Talu brushed my foot with her tail. You aren't reading that letter again, are you?

'You couldn't know which one I'm reading,' I huffed.

I don't know, but I feel. Sighing, I continued looked back at the paper, swallowing the emotions.

The Society is struggling to stay united under the pressure of The Argryros Order. We have spies within our ranks, no one is safe. You were lucky to get out whilst you did. You may not have liked the changes I've seen in people. I have never known such cruelty. Perhaps you have the gift of foresight too and knew we'd all turn out this way.

Oh, I wish it had been that way. I would've had more peace.

Wishing for you back hurts so I won't any longer. It's time to move on. It's time to let you go. I don't know how. But somehow, somehow, I will. I am sorry, for everything. I will keep writing the letters, because by now you probably look forward to them as much as I do. However, I'm sure you are fed up with me missing you. You would want me to grow up.

All the best to you, and enjoy the festivities,

Cassius.

I had, in fact, enjoyed the festivities this winter gone by. I'd even pressed a poinsettia as a bookmark for my diary. He knew me well enough to know that winter festivities would always sweep me up, no matter what. Maybe my bitterness was ebbing. But that thorn-like pain was too true an indicator that I hadn't let go of the past like Cassius had tried to do.

Maybe, maybe, reading the next letter would be closure. I'd never need to go and look at a letter-hold again.

'Maybe,' I whispered. 'Just maybe.'